Cycles of Love: Pleasure, Pain, Repentance
by Mara93
Summary: Love's Three Cycles and how they affect Arthur and Guinevere: Based on this quote by Richard Barnfield "Love is a friend, a fire, a hell, Where pleasure, pain and repentance dwell." Rated T because of the last 2 parts
1. Chapter 1

**Love's First Cycle**_**~Innocence**_

Thank you so much for your feedback for my past stories. I appreciate it.

Rating: G

This was written for **Camelot_love's 14 days of a/g fic**. This part focuses on Guinevere, Morgana and Arthur (with minor others). This part is mostly Guinevere's point of view. The story will be in three parts, all based on a quote prompt by **jeyla4ever**. The quote starts the story/credit to the author of the quote is there.

This part is also based on these prompts: Young Arthur and young Gwen meet for the first time on Gwen's first day on her new job taking care of Lady Morgana (prompt credit **purely_distel**) //Little Arthur teaches little Gwen how to sword fight (prompt credit **mustbethursday3**)

The story will start out semi-cannon, but goes back into the past before the show, and then goes into this future, so it has a strong AU feel too. This first part occurs between ep.2.1 and 2.2, with the past elements brought in.

Spoilers: Only s.1 and s.2. I'm not reading any of the current spoilers.

**~*~**

"_**Love is a friend, a fire, a hell,**_

_**Where pleasure, pain and repentance dwell."**_

**~Richard Barnfield~**

~*~

**Love's First Cycle:** _**Innocence**_

_**Love is…Innocence**_

_**Its dwelling**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**Pleasure**_

_**~*~**_

_**Love is the seeds of something new and fresh. It rings with laughter of children. It hugs, comforts and bonds. It teases and flirts. At its most ingenuous beginning it shines with joy. **_

_**For love is the dearest and most novel friend…**_

_**Inside it dwells…**_

_**The most innocent pleasure.**_

**~*~**

**Just a few days after the attack on Camelot, the evil return of Lord Sigan through the servant Cedric, the handmaiden carried it wrapped in cloth to the room where it was requested. **

**As she began to place it down, a voice rang out behind her.**

"**Preparing to do battle again?"**

**She smiled…**

**The days blended back into the skies of those past.**

**To innocence.**

**To excitement.**

**To discovery.**

**To childhood.**

**~*~**

It was the first day, causing her to be nervously excited. Gwen already knew she liked the Lady Morgana, but she had no previous experience as a handmaiden, and she had never even set foot inside a castle before she had interviewed for this position. Work on the other hand was a practice she was accustomed to, and so she was sure she'd be able to learn what she didn't already know.

Since Gwen was barely ten, she was a year or two young to be entering such kind of service, and yet she believed she was ready. For years now she had taken over the task of caring for her _Dad_.

He was of course the finest blacksmith around. A creator of swords, metal shielding plates, armor, strong wagon wheels, and much more, his forge she knew would do well in Camelot's center, where they were now living.

It was scary and equally thrilling. Combined, her new service job and his blacksmithing meant they had a lovely just found house right in the heart of Camelot's kingdom. That was a big improvement over the far away distance they had presided in before, where protection from invading kingdoms, ruthless bandits, and even fearsome animals had been minimal. Now with a dwelling so close to the castle, such hazards would be watched closely by the guards and knights.

It was still a wonder to her that they were even here, living just a walk away from the palace. The first morning they came, just less than a week ago, she had stepped out of their new home and raised her freckled sunkissed (_that's what her Dad would say, telling her that her mother used to declare how it was…that she had been gently kissed by the sun to give her skin its touch of darkening_) face upward…

Upward more…

And then even upward _more!_

They were so tall, the castle's towers, like the most giant monster trees in the forest. They were so grand and now she was not only living near them, but would be working inside them. It made her heart beat fast with anxious amazement. She still couldn't believe that out of dozens of girls, most much older than her, she had been chosen by the Lady Morgana to be her personal handmaiden. It was such a delight…_ah_…and such a fright! Lady Morgana was two years older than her, at eleven. So many of the girls that had tried out had experience working in the castle, some even specifically for other Ladies, and yet Lady Morgana…chose her.

It was so exciting!

It made it easy to get up at the early hour, just a bit before the cock's first crow even. Gwen fussed around the room with accustomed knowledge. Sure she was a barely matured girl in physical stature, but her _mind_ had matured to this, how to start the morning's house duties. She was quietly proud of that fact as she turned back to her Adler wood bed, padded with only a thin mattress and less than plump pillow, she neatly pulled the covers over.

There was of course reason she was good at her duties, a melancholy one. Just about five years ago her mother had passed with sickness. Since that time her _Dad_ had not married another. That didn't surprise Gwen much as her Dad and Mother had loved each other so strongly. She would smile with happiness at seeing them together, and at the three of them spending time with each other.

She couldn't remember too much of her mother, but a few special things. She was of course just so beautiful. She had dark locks, rings of curls just like hers that used to frame her full face. Her Mother had the prettiest smile, her _Dad_ would always say, and Gwen believed too, that made you just want to smile back. It made her face like the twinkling stars in the sky, so alive and full of light. But Gwen's favorite memory of her Mother was her sweet wet kisses against her cheek. They'd come when she hurt herself playing out in the wooded area, when she would learn something new and just…any time of day, no special reason needed. Her Mother always would say she had a pocket full of kisses for her favorite girl.

Gwen missed her terribly, but she shed no tears now as she made her way to the kitchen. Her Mother too, taught her to be strong, to keep her face up, her nose lifted to balance all the rest of her out, straight ahead with honor. And she taught her about love, something Gwen felt deeply for her _Dad_, and so she worked in the kitchen now, to take care of him just like her Mother had.

When her Mother had passed, money was still at the state it had always been for them, sparse, and so her _Dad_ of course couldn't take time away from his forge in their village. She was too young then to do the housework all herself and to not be watched, so the wonderful villagers, their friends around had all pitched in. It was the way things had been in Shonore, their small village they lived in before coming to Camelot. With scary bandit raids, wild animals and other horrible things that happened sometimes, everyone in the village looked out for each other. Whenever there was a sad death, they all helped whoever was pained. Since this time it was her _Dad_ and her, they watched for Gwen during the day, and the nice women helped her learn how to clean and cook. They were surprised that she had some ability for it already even, but see Gwen even as a wee one would watch all her Mother's work, and so she learned a lot by sight.

Now with their teachings and the memory of her Mother's toiling, Gwen knew well how to tend to house without any help at all. That was maybe why she rarely cried about her Mother. Gwen simply thought tears shouldn't be wasted when things needed to get done. They didn't seem to help anything at all. They didn't bring her Mother back, and so she stuck to her duty instead.

In the kitchen now, she started the fire, lifting the heavy logs with a small grunt before adding them to the stove. Her _Dad_ always told her to wait for him to help, but she could do it on her own. They were some strain on her small arms, but she could handle it. He needed his sleep anyway because her _Dad_ worked so hard at his forge, his new one now of course in Camelot, that he didn't even always make it back for supper time. That was why she now so seriously prepared his breakfast, almost as if she was an adult. She mixed the porridge and cut the pieces of dry bread. With the oven's fire now burning well, she heated the pot of porridge and toasted the bread over the flame.

As she worked, Gwen mused how the day would go. She had met for the first time with her new Lady just almost a week ago in her quarters. The Lady Morgana lived under the guardianship of King Uther because her father had been killed in battle just a year ago. Attending to her too was Nurse Harriet, who had a gravely sick relative.

A summons for a new handmaiden had been issued all around the kingdom.

How Gwen was the one chosen and was even selected for trial in the first place, had to do maybe with luck and most importantly…

Fate.

**~*~**

_Following behind the guard outfitted with armor almost everywhere, including a dagger-like blade of metal halfway down his face, Gwen practically lost her footing for a third time, as she could do nothing but stare…upward._

_She had never been in a place with ceilings so high. The castle seemed to rise to the heavens in height. She kept lifting her head, turning around to face where they had been before with awe, to stumble right into him as the guard stopped abruptly now._

"_Uh…oh my. Sorry."_

_She replied anxiously, looking up at the tall unsmiling man with that scary blade of metal that went over even his nose. _

"_You'd do best to watch your step. We have stairs to climb."_

_She smiled. He didn't smile back. She frowned sternly, trying to match his firm look. "Yes your lordship."_

_The guard rolled his eyes, suppressing his humor. The young girl seemed dazed by Camelot's jewel. No real surprise. Even knight trainees could be shocked by the beauty of the castle. It was said to be more magnificently built than any other. _

_He started quickly climbing the steps. _

_Gwen held at her finest dress, cleaned immaculately just for the occasion, even though it had taken hours for her to get out a potted stew stain from a cooking supper session. It was mostly yellow with white cotton underlay and a cord of brown tied loosely around her waist. Added to that she had picked some of the lovely flowers that greeted the forest and stuck some in her curls of hair that she had partially pulled back to look just a bit older than her young age. Hopefully it helped._

_Her scuffed leather shoes clicked against the smooth stone of the steps with so much sound that richly echoed. It surprised her so much, how without rough edges it was that she wished the guard would turn away for long moments so she could kneel down and touch it. See if it felt without brittleness against her fingers. He was quickly heading up though so she held at her dress skirts, nearly matching his rapid pace by taking two steps at a time when she could. _

_As the steps finally ended, he led her down a long wide hallway. On the side walls were portraits and crests of red and gold, the Pendragon one. She smiled at it with delight. It was beautiful how the dragon form so much of scarlet breathed its fire of prestige. It matched perfectly the guard's flash of red through all the armor, the Pendragon crest emblazoned on his chest._

_The halls were mostly sparse, but for the marbled statues that would at certain intervals shockingly decorate. She stared at their immensity of shape, polished color and of course height. A knight walked by, a tall man wearing thick chainmail and the gauntlet gloves fixed firmly to his hands. It was that type of glove that could signal a challenge. He focused straight ahead, not even glancing at her, a shining handled sword sheathed tightly at his side. She didn't flinch about the sword like some others might. It was something she'd seen plenty of before because of her father's forge. She did marvel though at his uniform and the thundering tread of his heavy boots. _

_The guard led her down another hallway with doors at the sides. Coming to stop at a pair crafted of thick pine, he knocked with authority. Gwen lifted her midnight eyes one more time to the towering ceiling. This was it. She could feel her hands warmly wet with anxiety. She pushed her palms forcefully against her dress to alleviate it._

_One word came past the shut doors. "Enter."_

_The guard fastened his fingers around the door's handled ring, pushing it to reveal the three people that waited. He felt a bit sympathetic for the girl. She seemed nice enough and yet a fully young thing with obviously no previous knowledge of the castle. Her chances of this prime position would definitely be cracked thin as a sliver of hair. Good thing she was thoroughly enjoying her visit it seemed, because it was likely her last._

_He announced, ushering the girl in with a rushed signal. _

"_Your Royal Highness King Uther, and the honorable Lady Morgana, the next girl to see."_

_Gwen noticed of course how the guard did not refer to the third person. It was custom for those not nobly born. _

_That person without noble lineage was Nurse Harriet, a heavyset woman with graying hair peeking past her white harshly tied bandana. She stood on the left side of the chair in the middle. At the right side was a man of tall stature, broad in physicality and topped on his head a golden crown. He was King Uther; as Gwen saw him for the first time, his stern unyielding look sent a shiver through her small form. Of course in the middle, sitting on the high backed chair, was the young girl distinguishingly known as the Lady Morgana. Her hair shined like it had been polished to its near ebony darkness. From her almost porcelain face flashed emerald eyes. She was dressed in a gown of luscious green that perfectly complimented them. _

_Gwen carefully stepped further into the room before stopping, as behind her the heavy door came to a jarring close, the guard leaving them alone to the interview. Even though the room was so beautifully decorated, she paid little heed to that, the novelty of the castle replaced now by cold fear of exactly what she was attempting to do._

"_Your name." The king ordered strongly._

_Gwen could feel her fingers shaking, but still she managed to answer as she also gave a youthful respected bow. Her Mother had been the one to teach her how to act with royalty, because you see her mother had been a handmaiden herself. That was the fate part, why she had been recommended for this position. Before her mother had married her father, she had served one of the noble ladies. The nurse standing on the other side of the sitting Lady Morgana, had remembered that service. _

"_Guinevere…uh…I mean Gwen. Well that is what most people call me…Gwen."_

_The king didn't seem to care about the distinction as he gestured to the girl in the chair, his arm sweeping past his scarlet cloak's fold. "This is the Lady Morgana, my ward, who you would be working for. Understand this is a position of high duty and responsibility. Laziness will not be tolerated, nor any form of disrespect." _

_Morgana gave a slight indication of attention now, rolling her eyes just a bit. To put it bluntly, the girl was bored and tiring of the hours already spent meeting various girls who she would never want attending to her. She didn't entirely care either for the king's harsh voice. After a year of being his ward, Morgana was still conflicted about whether the king truly was her friend, or her biggest nightmare. Yes, he did treat her like a daughter…she supposed, but he was not her father. And he just happened to be the person who had sent her true father to fight in a battle that…_

_Well that he never came back from. That hurt and yet her father had been best friends with King Uther, serving him loyally. _

_Because of her father's death, she now lived in the palace, having to spend more time with Prince Arthur probably than she wanted to. He could be so…ugh…annoying sometimes. She was the older one at eleven, so at least she could tease him about that little fact, and that she was the better sword fighter. _

_Looking past the king's profile, Morgana could see a bit out the tall window, noticing that down below the prince was practicing his sword skills with some of the knights and boys who knew to use extreme caution. She doubted he was enjoying it much. Arthur often complained that because of his young age still his father didn't let him fight the way he wanted to. Basically every tournament he competed in was at the junior level, he was not allowed yet to participate in any kind of battle of course, and even hunting treks were watched over carefully by fully fledged knights of a mature age. He liked to boast that he was trained to kill, but it was a bit flubbed of a statement considering the king wouldn't let him do anything too dangerous…not yet anyway. _

_Morgana frowned at the fact that she too wasn't allowed to do much more, even though she was a year older than the prince and had learned some impressive swordsmanship from her father. Because she was the king's ward she was expected to hold herself with cordiality, and yet sometimes all she wanted to do was go outside and best the prince in a match and swing a sword around._

_Instead she had to listen to the king come in now with drilling voice as he started his inquisition. For a moment Morgana looked away from the king and the window, her attention on the girl. She was dressed poorly for sure, though it seemed she had done her best to make it look suitable. Her face was not the prettiest, but she did have nice soft flowers in her hair that made her look a bit cute. That was about as inspiring as it got. Although the girl thankfully wasn't laughing like a chittering monkey and overly smiling, nothing made her seem right for a handmaiden. _

_King Uther was even less impressed, bordering on angered that this whole morning to early afternoon had so far been a waste of time. Not a single girl had appealed to Morgana or to him, and this small one who didn't look near ten at all, he doubted would be any different._

_His voice roughened like sandpaper, he asked, "So, what servant experience do you have…that is if any?" The last part was added in dryly as he already had a guess what the answer would be._

_Nurse Harriet showed some distaste at the hard directed question. She had served the Lady Morgana almost since birth and would miss the young girl, but it couldn't be helped. Her sister was very sick and would need caring for. Also, the Lady Morgana was eleven years old now. She could do with a girl closer to her age, a companion. _

_As the king circled around with hard scrutiny, Gwen could feel her palms growing clammy again. Pushing them behind her dress to wipe away the wetness, she strived to make her voice not shake. "Your Majesty, I'm not really that…experienced." She went on hurriedly, seeing in his face that the answer wasn't satisfactory. "But I do know how to cook, clean house, and I sometimes even help my Dad with his forge in Shonore, the village where we live now on the furthest south side of Camelot."_

_Morgana's throat tickled with irritation. She tried to clear it, feeling a cough dangerously approaching._

"_Hmmm…how old are you?" The king went on, unaware of his ward's slight distress._

_Gwen didn't answer right away, hesitant. Glancing at the Lady Morgana, she noticed how the girl had nothing really to say. She wasn't sure if the Lady Morgana liked her at all. The solitary bit of attention she had gotten from her was a polite stiff smile at the beginning of the interview._

_Swallowing hard, Gwen finally responded. "I am nine Your Majesty, but I will be ten in about five months."_

_The king turned back to the nurse heatedly. "You said she WAS ten."_

_The nurse countered quickly, thinking here now it started. The king would start his diatribe. "I said she would be ten soon."_

_The king rolled his eyes at the stubborn reply. The nurse was mostly a belligerent woman who he only tolerated because Morgana liked her and the nurse did treat his ward well. The girl in front of them though was simply not of age or experience and the nurse never should have selected her as a possibility. Nor should she have misled him. "Soon is not five months."_

"_That depends on personal opinion."_

"_This is completely UNACCEP-_

"_Don't you lecture me on the girl who I have tended to for many more years than YOU…my Lord."_

"_Ah-you insufferable woman! I am the king and I will not be-_

"_Then as king think of what is best for your ward."_

"_I AM think-_

_The heated arguing continued as Morgana's tickle became a full offense now, causing her to cough repeatedly._

_Gwen noticed it, as the king and nurse were now too much battling back and forth to be listening. She looked around the room with sharp eyes, spotting on the table a pitcher and cup. As the king and nurse raged at each other angrily, she moved to the table. Pouring some water into the cup, she carefully approached the Lady Morgana. This maybe broke some rules, but she couldn't just let her cough like that. She needed to help her out no matter how the king reacted. "Lady Morgana…some water?" _

_The girl phrased it as a gentle question. Morgana would have reached for the water though no matter what. Giving as much a smile she could of thanks, she drank down half of it, more control coming to her face after she was done. It helped quickly to take away the bothersome tickle._

_Quietly Gwen reminded now. "Be careful…drinking it very fast might cause you to choke."_

_The king heard that, as he now rapidly turned away from his argument with the nurse to speak forcefully. "You have no position at all to tell her how to do anything! This is the Lady Morgana and you will treat her with respect. In fact, you have proven that you are not suited to this-_

_Morgana had enough. After hours of girls who were too much one way or the other, too willing to please or too willing to work for her just so they could get what they wanted, there was someone calmly in the middle. She wasn't the prettiest or the most experienced, but there was something about Gwen. She hadn't excitedly given her the water, just caringly handed it to her, without overly done bows and all that. And after she had given her the drink, she had smiled in a way that was lovely actually. _

_That was why Morgana cut through respectfully the king's complaint. "No milord. She was only giving me some water because I kept coughing, and her advice was good, smart. It is possible to choke when drinking too fast."_

_The king grimaced as the nurse beamed. She knew it was right to have selected the girl as a possible handmaiden, despite her young age._

_Finally feeling she had some charge of the situation, Morgana asked Gwen. "So you said you live in Shonore with your mother and father?"_

_Gwen shook her head sadly, a flashing feeling of her mother's sweet pecks against her affected skin. "I live there with…just my father, Lady Morgana. My mother passed some years ago."_

_Morgana's face filled with emotion. The girl knew a pain that she understood well hurt deeply. Reaching out, she touched at Gwen's hand, feeling how small, worked, and yet warm it was. "I'm sorry. My father passed just a year ago." The girl had the kindest eyes Morgana noticed now, listening ones that had a gentling shine. "I still miss him very much."_

_The Lady Morgana's hand was a bit cold, but tenderly grasping. Gwen calmly kept her fingers within. "I know you must. I was told that he was taken in battle. I hope you have happy thoughts of him. My happy thoughts of my mother help me smile. They really take away for a bit all the pin pricking hurts."_

_Morgana stared at the girl with wonder. She was very young yes, and without experience, but she knew what was needed right away, and she had the kindest words to give for comfort, words that worked. "I do have those too of my father…and you're right…they help."_

"_They don't fill all the hole, but they line it a little bit better."_

_Nurse Harried watched with grateful pleasure as the Lady Morgana smiled vibrantly at the near prose. She finally seemed interested in a potential girl. Of course it was Arabella's daughter, the woman one of the most dedicated handmaidens she had ever witnessed. _

_The king was a bit oblivious to the growing connection, or maybe just not willing to accept it. "Well you can go now. Morgana, I will make sure the next girl is more suited for the position in age and-_

_Morgana quietly cut through. "No milord. I don't need to see any other girls."_

_The king's eyes widened as Gwen's did too. _

_Nurse Harriet raised her eyes to the ceiling, thinking it might be success. Finally. If there had been any more tittering or too serious girls she would have had to excuse herself to let out a good holler of frustration._

"_I've found my new handmaiden."_

~*~

Perhaps some of the last part was the luck. Whatever it was, Morgana firmly picked Gwen in that room, even over the king's strong protests. There was more to sweeten the deal and that Morgana helped use to convince the king that it was the best decision. Since Gwen's father was such a skilled blacksmith, his forge would be a huge benefit to Camelot, and to keep Gwen close, there was this house they now had near the castle. Of course the full deal wasn't that simple though. In addition to serving the Lady Morgana, the king had insisted that Gwen would be expected to perform various servant duties to the castle, including cleaning.

Gwen was ready. And now so was her _Dad's_ breakfast. She started to fill the plate for him.

At that moment the husky set man lifted his head to wakefulness. Taking in how his daughter had breakfast all made, he smiled with appreciative pride. She resembled so much her mother, even at such a tender age, beautiful with all those dark curls that Arabella had. He missed her every day terribly, and yet Gwen was his sweet blessing. Thank Arabella for not leaving him alone with his grief.

Rising up out of the bed now with determined vigor, Tom washed some and dressed quickly behind the curtain, putting on some frayed work pants and a tunic shirt the color of dark sand. Then all set for a day of work, he caught at his daughter's tiny waist, planting a peck against her cheek.

Gwen smiled at the touch of affection before gesturing with polite order. "Okay, now sit down and enjoy your breakfast."

Tom smiled wryly, thinking how she sounded a lot like her mother. Sitting on the bench at their rough birch table, brought all the way from their old home in the small village, he spooned the porridge with approval. "This is delicious Gwen, as always. You take too good care of me."

She fussed around, ready to pour her _Dad_ some more milk as he grasped at her hand. She was so young for all this, especially what would be coming.

"Alright, enough of that Gwen. You stop fussing over me and you too enjoy this delicious breakfast. Oh and don't tell me you did it again, carried those logs over by yourself."

She shrugged. "It is not too much."

Tom shook his head at her stubborn answer, not giving up on his previous gentled order. "Seat yourself Gwen. Relax."

Frowning, she didn't sit.

Tom commanded strongly. "_Gwen."_ Her full name was Guinevere, and yet their young girl had always liked the shorter form so she soon lovingly became that to Tom and his Arabella.

With a heavy sigh, Gwen did sit now, across from her _Dad_. She teased familiarly. "There, happy?"

He pushed some of his food onto her plate before she could start protesting. "A bit more."

She kept her eyes down, aware that he was watching her carefully. She feared it would come soon.

_It did._

"I do not approve of this, you know that Gwen. Working for the Lady Morgana, working in the castle of Camelot, you are not of age to be doing so much. I never should have allowed this."

He knew not enough about the Lady Morgana, only that she was a pair of years older than Gwen and that she had suffered the loss of her father about a year ago, a man of highest nobility of course. The girl too had no mother, the circumstances of her fate never explained, and so Lady Morgana had been brought to live in the castle shortly after her father's death. Attended to by her nurse since near birth, the Lady Morgana was in need of a new handmaiden, as the nurse had personal business.

Since Nurse Harriet had been a friend of Arabella's, once a handmaiden herself, she had put in good word for Gwen.

And so here they were now, at Camelot's heart, with a house that was finer than any other they'd ever lived in, and perhaps that didn't say much to some, but it was enough for them. His new blacksmith business in town was doing well for its start and all.

But _this_ was the part he could barely stand still for. He'd rather they go back to Shonore and live that even humbler life, anything to keep Gwen from being so burdened already.

_If only…_

A knock came at the door. Gwen jumped up from the bench, announcing excitedly. "That will be the nurse." She fussed at her yellow peasant dress, making sure it appeared neat enough and that her hair was pulled back. She was a bundle of happy nerves. As scary as this was, it would be so thrilling too to be working inside that enormous castle, tending to a real lady, the Lady Morgana.

Tom shook his head, moving to the door in front of her. "I'll get it." With a slight creak the birch door parted to reveal the nurse, white bandana only allowing a peak of her graying hair to show. "Come in." He signaled with little happiness.

The nurse watched as the girl went to grasp a shawl with hurried movement, and then saw how her father witnessed it with troubled expression. She had known him for the short while when he began to court Arabella. Touching at his arm now, Nurse Harriet muttered softly. "Do not be so worried about her. The Lady Morgana will treat her well."

Tom shook his head hard. "That doesn't help. I'm a fool to have given my okay for this."

The nurse laughed, even as his expression darkened more than his already naturally browned complexion. She spoke with care. "Trust me. I know this well."

It was the other reason Morgana had needed a new handmaiden. The girl was increasingly showing boredom and more importantly, loneliness. Not even the teasing back and forth between her and the prince could breech the girl's quiet pain. She was an old nurse who could never truthfully be a companion to the girl, but someone more her age…

"The Lady Morgana wants a friend more than any type of servant. She took to Gwen when she was sweet enough to give her some water to cure a faulty cough. She was touched that Gwen comforted her about her loss of her father. It's something they share…losing someone special to them. Yes, my dear girl is royal, but the Lady Morgana has always had the gentlest of hearts. She simply needs someone more her age to talk to, to spend time with…to laugh with. She will rely on Gwen's assistance, but she will not at all be a harsh mistress to her in any way. It will be fine, Tom."

At least that was some comfort, and yet Tom argued another point now as Gwen took one last look at herself in the mirror. "And what about the castle duty as servant? Gwen is not used to that kind of work. Yes, she can learn just about anything and she toils hard, but this could be too much for her. She is only nine years old."

The nurse sighed. She wasn't sure how much would be expected of Gwen in that way. Hopefully her first day wouldn't be too burdensome. "Well, that I don't know as much about, but she will mostly be tending to the Lady Morgana anyway. Her duties regarding the castle should be kept minimal, especially for the first years. Even so, if there is a dire problem, you have every right to voice your concern as her father. The king will have to listen to you because of Gwen's young age."

Inside, Tom laughed. He would never do it outwardly, and yet he doubted much the king would hear his pleas. Royalty rarely listened to what they considered peasants.

"I'm ready!" Gwen moved forward now, kissing at her _Dad's_ cheek with loving affection. "I will see you tonight _Dad_. Have a super day!"

He touched at her cheek worriedly. She was his young girl still, and yet already she tended to this house like a woman. It was too unfair, but he had no choice. If he wanted to have them living in a safer place, Gwen would have to be a servant. He just hoped the nurse was right about the Lady Morgana.

"You too…_love you_."

"_Love you."_ Gwen whispered back, moving through the door with the nurse.

Tom watched with emotion, before he hastily set to clean the kitchen so his daughter wouldn't have to when she came back. He had to rush as a day of blacksmithing was before him, and her first day of service…was before her.

**~*~**

Once again, Gwen could barely keep from having widened eyes of awe. Perhaps someday it would feel ordinary, but this day, her first, all the perfectly carved stone, pointed towers, and sweeping staircases, sparked her young mind.

The nurse noticed it with an amused caring look. She felt that her absence from her dear little lady could be with much more relief now. Gwen had that lightening spirit like her mother had.

They walked up the long stretch of steps that led to the Lady Morgana's room. Gwen followed the nurse with pangs of twofold feelings in her heart, fear, and utter happiness.

Nurse Harriet turned to the girl as the staircase ended and their climb took them to the preceding hallways. "Normally, I'd be with you throughout the day Gwen, guiding you. But you see I must go with haste as my sister is so ill."

Gwen let the excitement fade now as she reached out with care to the nurse's hand. "I hope she will get better."

The nurse smiled with thanks as now they came to that familiar big pair of Pine doors. She lifted at the handle to let them in.

For the first time, Gwen took in the full lavishness of the room. It was so much bigger than the tiny area she slept at in her home, not even a room that spot for her bed. The Lady's Morgana's _quarters_ actually filled out to two large rooms just branching off each other, bigger than even Gwen's house. It was well stocked with the finest oak and pine furniture, even smaller decorative pieces of precious Blackwood. The table she had picked up the water from was in the center, and beyond it was a tall changing screen of intricate design. At the front was the tall canopied bed, draped with colors of lavender, orchid and pale rose. The mattress was up high, wide, piled with fluffed pillows and thick shining covers that matched the canopy. Within all that grandeur, _she_ seemed almost tiny, the young girl. The Lady Morgana, even in sleep with her dark hairs scattered around her face, was ever so pretty.

The nurse spoke quietly, taking Gwen away from her perusal. "She appears to be sleeping well now. I am grateful for that. Gwen I must tell you, Lady Morgana sometimes has trouble sleeping. She can use your comfort those days, and she may sleep late because of how her night's rest is so negatively affected."

Gwen frowned. Even though she had lost her mother so young, she didn't really have trouble sleeping. Poor Mor…_well_ Lady Morgana, having to be bothered. She set her heart and mind even harder to her task now. She would do all she could to make sure The Lady Morgana found reasons to smile. She wanted her to be happy. "I will help her as much as I can, I promise Nurse Harriet."

The older woman smiled, clasping at the girl's hand. "I know you will." She gestured around the room with direction.

"Alright, now you must make sure that the Lady Morgana's breakfast is ready before she awakens. I will show you the kitchen for that, where to do all the laundering, and as much more of the castle that you will need to know, as time allows. Then, I will leave you to your duties. Now don't worry. The Lady Morgana likes you very much. She will make sure none of it is too hard to understand. I know you will do wonderfully." The nurse ended with fond memory now. "For… you remind me so much of your mother."

That made Gwen happy to hear, as her lips curled with gratitude. "Thank you Nurse Harriet for trusting me to do this job. I vow to you I will be the kind of handmaiden to the Lady Morgana that she should have. I will do my…utmost best."

She was so much like the young Arabella, full of purpose and yet a twinkle of fun too. Modest and yet sturdy enough to do her work. "I know you will _Child_. I leave with total faith that Morgana's welfare will be well cared for. It was very hard to say a final goodbye to her last night, but you have made it a touch easier with the reassurance that you will be a wonderful handmaiden…and friend."

Appreciation lighted in Gwen's youthful eyes, as she wondered a bit quizzically about the _'friend'_ part. Could they truly be that with their separations of class? "I heard my mother talk about you more than once. She said you were very dear to her."

The words touched at Nurse's Harriet's emotion. "She was that way with everyone.

Now come…"

**~*~**

The nurse had departed to tend to her family affair, and so now Gwen reentered the busy hustling kitchen alone. It was a formidable area for a girl so little, and yet she fixed her lip, and kept her nose raised to balance, just like her mother had taught her. The fumes of cooking were powerfully strong, a mix of spicing and sweet scents that came too close to overwhelm. The air was torridly hot and sweat inducing. She pulled some now even at her dress's sleeves for relief as the noise of pots being banged hastily from one flaming stove to another piercingly reached her ear.

She spotted it, an area not so heavily being used. Gwen dashed for it, using her eyes to find an unused pot and the food ingredients needed. She ground the sausage with the grinder, and then softened it even more with her hand as a worker next to her complained of their need for it. The oven needed no flame to burn as all of them were already flaming so brightly. Mixing the spices, she added them to the sausage and then set it to cook, ready to start the toast and other parts of her Lady's breakfast.

"Eh Girl, out of the way, I need that pot up there!"

A wide figured woman called from in back of her harshly. Gwen scuttled aside nervously, trying carefully not to spill out the contents she was cooking, as the flabby arm pushed past her face to abruptly grab the iron cooking device.

A little ways apart at another stove, another woman, a bit less wide, called out. "Oh now leave the girl be. You'll frighten her with all your hollering. Not that this kitchen isn't already frightening enough! Smells like a dank horse sometimes! Eh…you girl…new girl you be, right? I'm Adelaide, and that _boar_ of a woman behind you is Brunhilde."

The wider woman, Brunhilde, argued back at the insult from the other, who actually was one of her closest friends. They just _ragged_ on each other mercilessly. "Ah shut your mouth, calling me a boar when you look like a long necked cow…_mooooo_…"

Gwen couldn't help but laugh now at their loud voices and the wild kitchen atmosphere, quickly adjusting, except to the overextended aroma of conflicting smells. That would take some time. "Yes I'm new. I'm Gwen. I just started serving the Lady Morgana today."

That stilled about half the kitchen as faces all around stared, some very pointedly.

Seeing that the looks made the girl nervous, Adelaide called out strongly. She was one of the oldest castle workers, and the mother hen really of the whole bunch. Whenever there was a new _chick_ to the flock, she pecked at anyone too ready to hoax and bully. "Ah, all ye get back to your work! You have no time to stand around and gawk!" She turned back to Gwen with reassurance. "That's a fine job you got Honey. You need any help you just ask. I'll be seeing ye…"

She fiddled out of the kitchen with her food made, stacked high on an enormous platter. Gwen watched it with a bit of more fretting, wondering if she too would have to carry such large trays.

Nearby some of the younger girls, though advanced in age compared to Gwen, and definitely in experience, had listened carefully. So this was her, the girl that got the prime position.

This little thing was her?

One of them turned now, noticing Gwen brushing back a wet curl from her forehead with her arm. She whispered covertly against Gwen's sweating cheek, her own wettening plenty too in the high temped kitchen. "_Don't you think Brunhilde is just ghastly?_ That was awful how she pushed past you like that, just to get that pot. The woman has no manners at all. I know we may only be seen as peasants but have to have some decorum, don't you think? _OH_…here I go on ranting and I don't even say my name. Awful me. _Hi_…I'm Mirabelle."

Finishing the last of her food now with what she hoped was a quick enough pace, Gwen responded with a smile. "I'm Gwen."

Mirabelle smiled back, blue eyes and a touch of auburn hair shining past her dull brown bandana. "I know. I heard Adelaide. She is so dear to offer you help. Don't think she's the only one though. You can come to me too. I've been working here for a good sum of years…I know much about the castle. Anything you need Gwen…just ask."

"I will. Thank you." Gwen responded with gratitude. So far there were some very nice people in the palace. Finished with her food now, she waved goodbye.

Mirabelle did too, until the girl disappeared behind the heavy door.

"Ugh…"

~*~

Everything was set up. All the food was still quite hot that she had just fixed in the bustling kitchen. The scariest part had been balancing the large tray, but at least she had made it easier to find the room.

She had cheated a little in that, previously placing the tie of her dress on the door's knob to make sure she would be able to locate it accurately.

Gwen studied the table with youthful firm expression as the door opened harshly.

The boots thundered over the stone floor. His cape whipped behind him with snapping flair.

It was the king. Immediately she fell to her knees, bowing with respect as her head lowered. "Your Majesty."

The king peered past her dismissively, all dressed in royal red cloak for a knighting ceremony that would come later in the morning.

"She is not awake yet?"

Gwen turned back to the bed before lowering her head once more, taking in his hard toed boots. "No Sire. I have prepared her breakfast though, and I am prepared to do the laundering…and anything else my..._uh_…the Lady Morgana needs."

Uther sauntered over to the table, smelled at the food, checked it to make sure it was heated appropriately, and lifted a fork to the sausage. Cutting off a small piece, he placed it in his mouth. Keeping his expression level, he actually had to fight some not to smile with approval. The food was well hot and tasted rich with flavor. Perhaps she would not be as unsatisfactory as he first thought. Time would tell.

He had of course tried to argue his valid point against her and yet his ward had argued just as forcefully _for_ her.

_Aw_…young Morgana. She was very much like his dear friend Goloris had been, loyal and yet headstrong, ready to fight away his opinion on anything with strong reason. They'd butt heads all the time and still it was that way often with his ward. She fought for Gwen's position…

_Ah_…and she won. Even at just eleven years of age the girl had steely resilience. Like Goloris.

Turning around, putting down the fork, Uther signaled to the new servant girl, a tiny unappealing thing and yet maybe she had some skill. "Very well. The food is…_acceptable_. Make sure that Morgana gets a new fork."

Gwen nodded, taking the first fork away, and pushing the second one in place. She had been prepared.

The king noticed wryly before he ordered.

"Also…make sure that you tend to your duties in the kitchen and other parts of the castle. We will be having guests tomorrow, and so you will be expected to ready two of the rooms. If you are not sure how to do that you will be required to speak to one of the other servants for assistance. If the rooms are not _satisfactory_, it will weigh heavily upon you.

Understood?"

Gwen solemnly nodded her head, strongly though remembering her mother's words, keeping her chin up as much as she could while showing respect. "Yes your Majesty."

The king smiled a bit under a gloved hand that covered his mouth. She definitely might work out. Most servants would be down on their knees with overly done bows or asking inane questions. This girl just held still.

Slightly impressive.

He passed through the door.

Gwen let out a tight breath as across the way, the girl on the bed stirred. Gwen disposed of the first fork.

Then, clasping her hands in front of her dress she bowed, a bit excited again that now it was about to really start. They'd face each other for the first time since she'd been picked. "My Lady Morgana…Good Morning."

Slowly Morgana's eyes opened to full waking. Her quarters were filled with the rich scents of sweet breakfast, her favorite meal of the day, even though sometimes she ate it so late. Past the bed, the curtains were parted to let in the glowing sunshine and in front of her…

She was her own little bit of sunshine. Morgana smiled now, pressing against her pillow to sit up. For the first time in a long time she felt very excited, happy. The girls who would come to the castle, the other ladies often were too giggling and silly. Gwen was just the right balance of calm and hopefully…

Well she would soon find out.

"Gwen!"

The new little handmaiden couldn't help but beam at that, feeling still that she was so lucky to have this desired position. Taking a few steps forward, she found it hard to be cautious. The Lady's Morgana's happy grin was nearly contagious.

Morgana sat up fully in the bed now, waving with her arm. "Come here Gwen."

She moved the more steps to be right in front of her mistress.

Her eyes shining with the enjoyment of something new, Morgana held to her hands and asked, "Are you nervous?"

Gwen shook her head quickly…before nodding it with a fragile crease to her lips. "Well maybe yes…_a little_."

Morgana grinned. She hated lying, and so the girl's honesty was welcome. This was going to be fun, maybe even like having a little sister, so much better than thinking of _irritating_ Arthur. "It's alright. And you mustn't always call me the Lady Morgana by the way. You may say Milady…or even Morgana. I really do not mind."

Gwen couldn't help but smile back, before she remembered her position. She was not here to play. She needed to do her work, serve the Lady Morgana honorably and prove to her she made the right choice. "Well Milady, breakfast is ready. Let me show you it all."

Morgana pushed away the covers and departed the bed with a slight hop. Coming to the table, she clapped her hands with delight at what was in the middle. "_Flowers_…oh thank you Gwen! They're so lovely. They don't look like the ones in the palace gardens though or at the market. From where did you get them?"

Gwen looked up with a bit of apprehension, her Lady taller than her when she was standing. She hoped the Lady Morgana didn't mind they definitely were not from those places. "No. I picked them actually by the creek. There are beautiful bundles that grow there in so many colors, but I will go to the market next time if you'd rather I do so."

Morgana shook her head profusely. "Not at all. I get so tired of all the _same_ looking palace ones. These have a fresh smell, bright colors and everything. You were so kind to pick them for me Gwen. Thank you."

"I'm glad you like them."

Morgana sat down now in the chair that Gwen slid out for her. "Aw, thank you again." She started to dine, smiling with the first bites. "_Oh_, it's so well made Gwen!" Really it was, rich and full of flavor, that Morgana's smile was a real one that lit up her face with a drizzle of color.

"It pleases me you approve." Gwen answered, sounding as _adult-like_ as she could, as she carefully poured some fresh made juice too for her…_ah_…her Lady.

After giving give the cup to her, Gwen searched with her eyes. She would have to help her Lady get dressed. The problem was she just couldn't remember which cabinet it was that held her dresses. Nurse Harriet had showed it to her, but Morgana's quarters were immense compared to what Gwen was used to.

Morgana continued to eat her food with polite relish, taught at a very young age the type of protocol a lady of her stature was expected to follow and the way she should demand she be treated. Morgana was a unique one though, her own person with strong confidence who did not always hold to those statures. "Would you like some?"

Gwen turned around from her perplexed search of the room, stunned by the words.

Morgana frowned lightly, understanding why. Well at least one part that is. "I suppose I shouldn't be asking that. I just don't always like all that…_royal-obedient thing_ and I don't really think servants should be treated poorly. Plus I won't expect you to do _EVERYTHING_ for me like…well like _he_ would."

Gwen questioned with her eyes.

Morgana went on, finishing up her meal as Gwen so quickly filled her half drank cup. She really was so good at this. "I'm talking about the prince of course, you know…Arthur. He can't even button his own shirt, let alone carry a junior lance without begging his thousandth servant to help him."

Gwen's eyes widened.

Morgana complained boisterously. "Well it's true. He can't! And none of his servants last because Arthur makes them all so miserable." Noticing how shocked the girl looked, Morgana softened her voice a bit. "Oh don't think too ill of me Gwen. Arthur's alright, when he isn't being an annoying pest. You'll meet him soon enough and see what I mean." She grinned, forking a slice. "Here, at least have a sausage. Taste how well you made it."

Gwen shook her head profusely, looking around the room to see what should be done next. Oh and if only she could remember where the dresser was.

Morgana insisted now though, catching hold of the girl's hand from the distance. She gave her the fork. Gwen carefully removed the piece of sausage and took a taste with a bit of marvel. Not for her cooking necessarily, but for the sausage itself. She rarely was able to enjoy such a treat; meat was finely expensive for peasants and considered a luxury. _"Mmmm…"_

That made Morgana happy, the girl's real impression. "_See_…you made it so well." She continued with her chatter, somehow so easily brought on by the girl's quiet listening. "Sometimes I do not care for living in the palace, but you and I are in for a treat next week Gwen. The knights will be having a jousting match and we are to attend. Not a _junior_ Arthur _babyish_ one mind you. A _real_ one! We actually get box seats right in front."

Gwen looked at Morgana with surprise. "I can attend?"

Morgana nodded her head quickly. "Of course! You are my handmaiden now and…well I hope my friend." She added the last part with a bit of shyness.

It made Gwen strengthen some. She smiled fully at her mistress. "Oh…yes Lady Morgana…milady." It excited her to think that they could go to the matches together. She had always wanted to see one even though she was a bit scared of the violent part of it. Still, it would be kind of thrilling to watch the knights all in their armor, proudly displayed coat of arms, and masks, racing across the field on their horses, lances sharply pointed at the other. _Ooooh_…yes that would so exciting!

Morgana smiled warmly, knowing just like she had days ago that she picked the right girl. "We're going to have fun Gwen. I know it. I loved Nurse Harriet, and it was hard for me to say goodbye to her last night, but she has the family problems she told you about and so I wish her the best. She knows I'm getting older and so she wanted what I've wanted for a bit, someone closer in age."

Gwen started to think now that maybe this wouldn't just be a job, but a whole new change for her, the start of…

Well…_something_!

Morgana got up from the table now with question, authoritative, and yet respectfully going back to Gwen's duties. "Speaking of, Did Nurse Harriet show you everything? I'm assuming from this fantastic breakfast you know where the kitchen is, yes? And the laundering, do you know where that's done? It's an area in back of the castle."

Gwen nodded her head, thinking of the king's last instructions. He had made it clear that if she didn't know what rooms to prepare she should ask one of the over servants. Perhaps she could ask her Lady…ah…no. Even with Lady Morgana being so friendly already she didn't think it proper to ask her, and she didn't want to admit she had no idea what to do. She'd figure it out somehow.

She still had no idea where her Lady's clothes cupboard was, but one thing she could do with no needed direction. Gwen moved forward to remove the linens from the bed for washing. "I will take care of this for you Lady Morgana…_oh_…" She half blushed. "I mean Milady of course."

Morgana smiled with approval, walking over to her changing screen now to clean up a bit and get dressed. "Thank you Gwen." Noticing that the girl was busy, she easily opened the cupboard herself where her fine dresses hung. Taking one out along with some undergarments, she stepped behind the screen.

Gwen finished pulling away the linens, seeing her mistress nowhere. "Milady…"

Morgana waved, still a young girl enough, even if a tall one, to not be seen at all behind the carved screen. "Over here Gwen. Just changing for the day."

She came out. "Can you help me with this?" She gestured to the buttons lining the back of the lavender dress she was now wearing.

"Oh yes of course!" Gwen hastily put the linens down on a chair and rushed to help her new mistress.

Morgana laughed softly. "Oh Gwen you don't need to rush."

With a tight frown, Gwen busily buttoned up the dress. "I'm sorry Milady. I should have gotten your dress out."

Morgana dismissed her new handmaiden's words with an easy shrug. "Gwen I already told you I don't expect you to do everything. I'm more than capable of finding some clothes to wear and changing into them. Just don't think I'm going to be one of those girls who is constantly calling on you for silly things like filing my drink more when obviously the pitcher is on the table. And as much as I adore your help you will not have to fully dress me every day…only on days when I'm _bloody_ tired and can use the help."

She grinned, mischievously having fun with her just stated words. She had a fiery spirit that was begotten from her father's fighting edge.

Gwen couldn't help smiling too as she spoke honestly. "I think it my luck I get to be your handmaiden, milady."

Morgana shook her head. "No, _I'm_ the one that's lucky. After this can you help with my hair? I'll show you where everything you need to know is."

"Of course."

Maybe one was a servant and the other was a lady of royal lineage, but they were already becoming…

Fast Friends.

Loneliness's healing would never know the bounds of nobility.

_~*~_

Hours later the new handmaiden was faced with the _still not_ fixed dilemma. She had no idea which rooms she would need to prepare for the guests, nor exactly how to go about it. She wandered around before luck came. Luck in two actually. Down either side of the hallway was someone she knew.

Now…

Who to ask?

_~*~_

The directions had been delivered with a friendly smile. Just like in the kitchen, she had offered the help so kindly.

Gwen carefully counted the doors until she came to the third one. That was how she had been instructed, third door on the right.

In front of her was a pair of Pine double doors. Most the rooms seemed to have similar entrance throughout the castle. She pushed at one side, and walked in. It was very…red. That was the first thing she noticed. The bed was large with scarlet covers. This one must be for a husband and wife pair she thought.

Moving away from the bed, she noticed the table very similar to the one in Lady Morgana's room, only this one had strips of fur and leather laced around the chair. Interesting. On the wall was a portrait of a silver shining knight, sealed from head to toe in mask and armor. She smiled at it admiringly. Battle was definitely scary, but the knights were kind of…dashing.

The picture made her recall Morgana's mention of the jousting tournament for next week. Gwen was so excited that not only would it be happening, but _she'd_ be able to attend and sit with her Lady Morgana while doing so.

Wrapped up in anticipating thought of that event, she didn't notice right away what her fingers were touching, until they _thoroughly_ brushed up against it.

"AH!"

Quickly she clapped her hand over her mouth, scared someone might have heard her. Dashing to the doorway, her yellow skirted dress swinging around her legs, she peered out.

First to the left…

No one. _Phew_…good.

Quick look to the right.

_Awwww_…no one there either.

Then heading back into the room, she cautiously made her way to the…

Thing that had made her scream.

It was ugly. She felt sorry for it even so. And it just was so _STRANGE_ to have in a guest's room. She would certainly not want to sleep with this beady eyed thing staring at her. What if it came to life in the middle of the night like some wild fantasy story, like some crazy sorcerer made illusion?

Turning her head to the side, she studied it closer…

_Closer…_

_Clo-_

Oh! She shrunk away.

The _thing_ was actually the head of a wild boar, displayed right there on the dresser. Maybe a man would like it, but a lady? She couldn't think of any that would want this ugly monstrosity staring at them. Part of her cleaning should be to remove it. In fact…

She bravely walked up to it again, a purpose in focus. She would protect whatever lady slept in this room by removing the frightening culprit. She just had to be brave enough to lift it away. Stretching out her arms, she tightly closed her eyes. Sight blocked, she searchingly felt around the dresser until…

_Ah_…there.

She grasped it in her hand.

_EEEEWWEEE_…

It was all furry and…bristly!

Hating touching it, she resolved to keep it in her hold. She just had to get it out of here. That was all. Rid the room of the hideous freak of nature.

"_It's not fair! I can handle a real one now!" _

She startled at the voice. It was coming from down the hallway.

"_Yes..."_

"_What do you mean, yes? Can't you say anything else other than that…yes…no…yes? Don't you know any other words?"_ The young voice mocked.

There was no answer before the young voice asked a tight question. _"Eh…Where's my sword?"_

"_Oh uh…I think I left it on the field."_ The other replied, definitely older as the tone was deep, and yet quite nervous sounding.

Compared to that, the young voice had no sign of nervousness as it came back with a disgusted yell now.

"_ON THE FIELD? Well go back and GET it then! Better yet, snatch me a real one from a knight! Show my father what I can do and stop Morgana's big mouth. Well don't just stand there. GO! You're all idiots. And it's idiotic that I have to use this junior sword thing still. I want a true one!"_

Morgana's big mouth? His father? Gwen wondered.

One pair of footsteps sounded like it was bolting down the stairs in the opposite direction.

The other though…

Boots just a little less heavy than of the knights and king.

Boots…

_1000__th__ servant…_

Real sword…

OH NO

The footsteps were getting closer…

_Closer…_

Eyes still tight shut, her shaking hands touched…

ITS eyes. She shrieked at the hard glassy feel of the beady globed atrocity. So disgusting. So vile. So..._groooooooossssssss!_

She couldn't hold it back anymore. Too much!

"AAAAAHHHH! EEEEEWWWW!"

She dropped it.

Just as _he_…

Walked in.

"That's my hunting prize you just dropped you dumb girl!"

With a boy's fury, he bellowed with a good touch of familiarity. He often heard his father issue the same type of authoritative holler.

He pulled _it_ out too from his junior sized arsenal belt quite rapidly.

"WHO ARE YOU?"

Gwen finally opened her eyes, seeing an actual dagger now pointed at her…_well at least_… a junior version of one. It wasn't as pointy at the tip as the ones used by the…men.

Still it did a very impressive job of scaring a young girl like she, the shining metal whispering an ill intentioned _hello_. Holding onto it was a boy a few hands taller than her with hard piercing blue eyes. He had sweating gold colored hair that framed a face just a touch darker than Morgana's. Wearing a red tunic and brown pants with black boots, his dress actually seemed ordinary.

It was probably the craziest way to greet, but she was a smart enough girl to start putting two and two together. The directions had been just a little _off_…maybe on purpose.

"Please tell me you're not Prince Arthur." That dagger still had yet to leave his upraised hand. She didn't like its shininess, fully fledged knife or not. Maybe it couldn't do away with her, but it could leave a nasty...splintering cut.

The boy smirked, thinking _that_ line deserved a good one. He was not all that old in age, and yet he was known for his sarcastic attitude when the opportunity called for it. She seemed the right kind of dumb girl that would be fun to tease. "_Oh no_. _I'm_ not him.

I'm his SERVANT, _Donald_…

Dumb girl!

Pick IT up."

He pointed the dagger downward, gesturing to his hunting trophy that she had let fall to the floor.

Gwen quickly bent down to her knees. As she looked up though, she noticed his amused smile. _That did it_. He was enjoying this. The mean boy, prince or not, was getting some kind of ill spirited merriment from this. Well that really was just the last…bristly string of…

Hideous…

Hair…

On that horrible thing's head!

She may be just a servant, but he barely acted like a prince, more like a cowardly _brat_ screaming at everyone and pointing junior baby daggers at a girl. _Really_…he had no manners at all!

She did like her mother had taught her, straightened her nose for balance, which lifted her face, _angrily_. He called her dumb and ordered her to her knees. He was just a boy no matter whose son he was.

Gwen's impulsiveness railed in her voice now with a tightly grimaced rant.

"You should not be so mean! No wonder none of your servants stay! You're just a…

He sneered in her direction, pretty impressively for a mere boy. _"A what?"_

"A BULLY!"

Still on her knees, she snatched that horrible thing before lifting up to her feet. Thrusting it down so rapidly on the dresser, the head rolled around a bit before finally it came to a stop, lopsided.

Arthur stared. No one ever talked to him like that. They were too horrified of the king's wrath. This girl though, with tight dark curls and a shabby dress at best, definitely servant material, raised her nose at him like _he_ was the one who was a peasant.

She really was dumb…dumbly stupid.

"Do you know who my father is, servant girl?"

Now he was mocking what she did. She was so mad, hands fisting at her sides. She thought little of the repercussions, pursing her lips tightly. He was destined one day, far into the future, to become king. That just seemed totally ridiculous right now. A boy like this had no business ever becoming king of the people.

She tried to look as mature as she could, frustrated that he was tall enough to make her have to look up while she insulted. "He is king. And you should honor him better than how you do. Everyone knows princes become kings, but you would be a horrible one."

He gave her that look, the one that went beyond his years, stunned. Then smiling with youthful arrogant fun as he put his dagger back in his belt, he yelled.

"GUARDS!"

That brought her completely back to where she was and what she had just done. Gwen felt her heart thump. She shouldn't have let her anger get the best of her. She rarely did. Even for a young girl, people said she was patient, but this…boy! _Ugh!_

It didn't matter, her fury. She couldn't just think of herself. She'd lose this new job in one day. She'd let down her lady. She'd force her _Dad's_ business in town to end. They'd have no home. It was all her fault and now she had to make amends for it. Forgetting all her foolish pride, she grabbed one of the boy's hands.

"_Ew…ugh_…" Arthur let out. Her palm was wetter than his forehead right now.

"GUARDS!" He called out again with agitation. They didn't _always_ run to his beckon as fast as they did to his father's, which was so annoying. Soon enough though they'd be here and seemed this girl finally realized that. _Hah_…she'd lose her job. He still had no idea what she was doing in his room, but he didn't really care right now. She'd be sacked in minutes. If only the idiotic guards would get here.

"G-

Desperate, Gwen wiped with her apron at the wetness she had brought to his hand. Then, thinking only of those who mattered to her, the Lady Morgana and her _Dad_ most of all of course, she fell down hard to her knees. Perhaps a little _too_ hard.

"Please Prince Arthur…please don't call the guards again."

She looked ready to cry. Even as her oddly dark eyes looked up to him without any hard blinking, she seemed really upset now. And she was apologizing.

"_Please."_

He opened his mouth again.

She closed her eyes hard, lowering her head. _This was it._ She ruined everything. Mean boy or not, she made this happen.

One more call and they'd surface. He had the word firmly in his head. Just that one command left.

She might start crying.

_Fie_…he hated when girls got all weepy.

She waited. It had to happen. Nose against the floor, she could feel the dust tickling at her nostrils. "Please don't tell my Lady."

One call. That was it.

The young Arthur Pendragon certainly hadn't gone through anything like a thousand servants, but he had plenty that he got rid of in one day. They all did everything he said. Maybe that would make most boys happy, but he wasn't _most_, and so instead it frustrated him plenty.

They were all cowards.

_She_ had a mouth. She made him feel uncomfortable as she begged. She was dumb.

But she didn't _just_ say yes or no all the time.

"Who's your lady?"

Gwen finally lifted her head, her neck feeling strained. As she did, she noticed there was fractioning interest in his eyes, but not much more. He hadn't called them again. _Why?_ Was he just trying to trick her?

"The Lady Morgana."

Arthur rolled his eyes. So _this_ was her. The day she was picked he'd been out practicing his swings. Girls barely interested him more than the true arsenal of a knight, what he wanted to finally be able to carry, and use. It made sense since he was barely eleven at ten years old, and most girls were just annoying, while most weapons were…_spectacular_.

Bored of the confrontation now and noticing that _it_ still had yet to be properly positioned after her _mangling_ of it, he moved to his dresser. Lifting the prized boar head, he set it back down in a straight manner, before he commented. "Morgana…of course."

The royal boy's servant came back, to see his master with his back turned. _Young pain of a…_

_Master._

He had heard him while running up the steps to return the sword. The boy had been yelling for the guards. Well enough was enough. He wasn't going to spend some night in the dungeon just to be put _back_ in the torture of serving Prince Arthur.

The servant misjudged Arthur's reason to call the guards, too used to the boy's wrath. He pushed the sword into Gwen's hands almost fearfully.

He'd go back to his father's food stand and help him. Having a nervous breakdown before he reached eighteen was not something he wanted to look forward to. Prince or not, _the boy was a tyrant_. Even though any punishment the boy had planned would have to go past his father first, King Uther usually listened to his son. He protected him wildly. That's why Arthur was always in such a bad mood, because he wanted to be a real fighter, a grown one that battled like all the knights were expected to. He'd have to learn how to carry his arsenal first…_on his own!_

Gwen watched with widened eyes as the former servant raced through the hallway and practically skipped each step to get down faster. _That was 1001_.

Holding the sword in hand, she tipped it upward with interest. The handle was beautiful and yet its hold was a little less than perfect. Like Prince Arthur had complained while out in the hallway, it was _not_ a true sword. Its blade was dull enough to keep it from doing any real harm, and yet it did have a captivating line of decoration shining through the silver. For the moment so focused on it, a natural trait of childhood that moods easily lifted, she forgot her earlier fear of what he still had authority enough to do.

Since he was…

Prince Arthur, son of King Uther, _the once and future_…

King.

Turning back around, Arthur's youthful blue eyes widened. She had his pitiful imitation sword in his hand, but what was kind of alarming was she didn't seem all that afraid of it. He knew no girl who was so comfortable with a sword except maybe Morgana. Most of the young ladies shrieked at them and got silly, dropping it out of their wriggling fingers, complaining that…_oh it was too heavy!_

He had no idea if this girl could fight like Morgana, who liked to tell him she was better. _Hah._ But she definitely was used to holding it at least. That piqued his interest as yet to fully mature eyes noticed her appearance again. The curling hair was tied with some flowering ribbons that seemed to only partly get their task completed. Some of the curls had fallen out. Her skin had a tint of darkness to go with her hair, almost like the sun had _fun_ with it. It was all finished of course with that shabby yellow peasant dress.

_Wait a minute_. She was holding his sword. _Uh…how?_ So many questions about this weird girl.

Gwen's eyes met his watching ones. She felt her cheeks redden slightly before she pushed the physical flawing reaction away. _Silly_. She couldn't stand this boy. He seemed questioning right now though. She looked at it in her hand with understanding. _Of course_. The servant man had left without him seeing.

"Your servant left this for you. You're probably going to need a new one, _servant_ that is. I don't think he's coming back my…_uh_…lordship." She grimaced at her own mangled words, but also felt a bit confused. She had no real instructions for how to address a prince, one that she didn't even like. Not fully anyway.

The mismatched title actually made him laugh, a smile touching at Arthur's lips for a second.

He should have called the guards on her.

Just one oddly peculiar thing made him not yet yell for her to leave his room.

_She called him a bully._

"It's not lordship. It's _my lord_ or…_Prince Arthur_. I'm not really anything else yet. But I _will_ be."

For the first time she saw something beyond cowardly bulliness in his eyes. _Determination_. It amazed her a bit before the worry returned.

Arthur pointed with command. "The sword…here…"

Gwen frowned.

Something about her silent not approving look made him amend his words slightly. "It's _mine_, so _can_ you hand it here?"

Well, slightly rude or not, at least it was a question. She lifted it to him, asking. "Are you going to call the guards on me?"

Arthur took the junior sword from her, holding it in his hand with knowledge. He trained more than he was even told to. He practiced often in his room beyond hours when he should be asleep. One day he would be able to get rid of this puny thing and fight the way the knight in his picture had. He'd be fully clothed in armor and arsenal. He'd lead the knights because he'd _best_ all of them. One day.

Gwen waited.

Giving the sword a few quick swings, Arthur did not answer her question. "You didn't look all that scared holding this. Most girls do."

"Except Lady Morgana. She's better than you."

His eyebrows came up with surprise.

Gwen rambled. "_Uh_...I mean…she says she is. And I know she is because she's my Lady, _but uh_…I probably shouldn't have said that she is…at least not to…_eh_…you."

The young prince half smiled. "_Probably_. So how did you learn how to hold a sword without acting all silly about it?"

Gwen shrugged now with ease, just happy he hadn't sent her away yet. "I see them all the time. My _Dad_ makes them, much better than that one." She shook her head. "I probably should not have said _that_."

"Probably again. Your father is a blacksmith?"

Gwen watched as after one last swing he set the sword down on his table. She pushed away some tickling hairs from her eyes. They always fell out of her ties, never listening. "Yes. He set up his forge here in Camelot and it does well."

"_Who_ are you? I mean I know that you're Morgana's handmaiden, but what is your name?"

The question came out now with no warning.

Gwen's young girl nervousness returned, her nose wrinkling as she half grimaced. Just a precursor for the long rambling round. "_Um_…well my name is Guinevere. But oh…everyone…well most everyone anyway, friends and _uh_…well I like Gwen the most. I'm not saying that you…_uh…I mean_…"

She could learn a lot from his English tutor. A lot more than he boringly had to put up with. Exasperated, Arthur cut through the most wandering answer that was ever presented to him, using the first name he heard her fill in with. "Guinevere.

_What_ are you doing in my room?"

Perhaps she had _definitely_ kneeled down too hard. It bothered her bruised knee now, making her wince slightly. "I didn't know it was _your_ room Prince Arthur. I thought it was a guest room."

"Why would you think that?"

She bit down on her bottom lip, grimacing as the pain started to intensify. That was nothing though compared to her growing realization. She had been in here for a long time. The king and her Lady were most likely finishing lunch, and soon the man would see that she hadn't touched either of the rooms yet. When he did, it would all be over. She'd be sent packing. They'd have to leave their new home.

Dully she answered, a tiny childhood's grunt to push away the physical hurt that was stubbornly not vacating. "One of the girls told me that this room…obviously your room Prince Arthur…was the guest room. I'm beginning to think now she told me the wrong room on purpose."

Slowly it made sense to Arthur. Even as a boy he knew the drill that most new servants were put through. It was the same kind of fun teasing that went on between knights. Maybe some of the pranks were a bit mean, but _this_ went further than a regular prank even. And he was now guessing the reason. "Because you work for Morgana. You know what I mean…she picked you for her handmaiden. A lot of girls wanted to be it."

Gwen tried to pretend the abrasion didn't hurt. "I know. I just thought the girl was being nice. I didn't think she was being spiteful because Lady Morgana chose me."

Arthur shrugged. "She's not like a lot of other young _'ladies'_, even though she can be an irritating bother. That's why they all wanted it, because Morgana's not all that into ordering around and such."

"Like you?" Gwen slapped her hand over her mouth, regretting her wild impulsiveness that seemed to be just flying out with this boy.

Arthur half smiled, and asked, before another _rambling_ apology could start. "Who was it?"

"She said her name was Mirabelle."

"Where did she tell you to go next?"

"Five doors down to the left."

Arthur's sharp sky eyes widened. _"My father's?"_

Gwen realized the full extent of it with too heavy a face for such a young girl. She never should have gone to Mirabelle. She should have just headed down the opposite hallway and asked the other person who had been nice to her in the kitchen.

The king would dismiss her for sure now and…

_Oh_. Her wounded knee shrilled at its neglect. It made her leg shake.

"What's wrong?"

She threw it out, thinking there was no reason not to. She'd never set foot in this castle again. "Well everything of course!"

Arthur took a surprised step back at the yell, but could plainly see how upset she was. And yet it was _more_. She looked like she was almost limping on one foot. "Why are you standing like that?"

Defeated was Gwen's expression. Maybe the king had been right. She wasn't suited to this job. She spoilt it all in one day.

"_Ow."_

Now he knew for sure. She was hurt. He just didn't know how. It shouldn't matter to him at all. She was a dumb girl who dropped his prized boar head, and yet she'd been tricked, and her big eyes looked so…_lost_ now. "Come on, why are you standing that way?"

Gwen lowered her head. "I kneeled too hard when I begged you not to call the guards. I know you're going to call them now though so just…do it. I know I'm in big trouble."

She said she was supposed to be cleaning the guest rooms. His father would definitely infer why they were not yet done.

She hurt herself kneeling. It wasn't like he had ordered her to, but it was always what the peasants and servants did with his father. It made him uncomfortable a lot of the time when he'd be in the throne room with the king and someone would go down low on their knees begging for something. Sure it was a sign of respect and kings did it for fallen comrades. The prince did it to honor his father. Knights kneeled at their ceremonies. It was all normal. He just hated watching the overly done begging, and yet she had done it at his feet. He didn't try to stop it. She was just a girl, maybe younger than him. She was tiny. If _he_ ever kneeled too hard then…

_Then… _

"Stay here. I'll be right back." He started to walk away, but her wincing was not alleviating. "You can sit in the chair if you want. And don't worry, the boar's head isn't alive anymore.

_At least I don't think_."

He smirked.

She frowned.

Half amused, Arthur left.

Gwen stubbornly stayed standing, a tear falling down her face now that she was alone. Her knee hurt so much and…oh her lady Morgana would be so disappointed. Her new job and it was over in one day.

How was she going to tell her Dad?

How-

Another tear started to fall.

"_Eh_…don't cry. I hate it when girls cry. Too _weird_. Here…"

Arthur walked back into the room with an unhappy grimace at the wetness staining her cheek. Extending his arm, he pushed it to her.

Gwen rubbed with her fingers harshly at her face to remove the tears, surprised by his return and even more-so by what he had in his hand.

Seeing that she didn't get it, Arthur smiled slightly. "For your knee. Adelaide got it nice and cold for you. Um…_er_…" He hated doing this, but it was right. "I'm sorry you hurt it whilst kneeling. The floor's hard so watch it next time."

Yet to take the cloth, she stared. Was he actually being nice to her? His blue eyes seemed a bit friendly now. They made him a little more normal along with that last streak of wet golden hair from his sword practice.

"Come on take it. Adelaide prepared it for you. For your knee."

Gwen finally accepted the extended cloth. She lifted shyly at the bottom of her dress just a bit.

Feeling boyish awkwardness, Arthur turned away.

When he turned back around, she had the cloth raised under the last bits of her dress where he couldn't see. "Should make it hurt less."

She was thankful he had turned around. It was strange enough coming to his room to think it was the one she should be cleaning. It was Mirabelle's fault and _her_ stupidity for believing the girl. "Thank you…for getting this for me."

Arthur shrugged off her gratitude like what he did was nothing of consequence. "It was Adelaide. _She's_ who you should have gone to by the way. Adelaide's good at all this kind of stuff. The other girls are all jealous of you because you're working for Morgana. She's kind of…_ugh_…nice with servants. And she seems to like you a lot. I didn't know that it was you…who she picked, but I heard her talking about the girl with a lot of enthusiasm to my father…so now I know…_well that's you_…she meant."

Gwen soberly responded. Just minutes before it all ended. "You're right. I _should_ have gone to Adelaide. I met her earlier in the kitchen and she was really nice."

"Yeah well…next time you know better."

Gwen grimaced. "What next time? There won't be one."

Strange. She didn't seem the type to give up.

"You're going to quit?"

Gwen responded bluntly.

"I'm going to be _sacked_."

Arthur showed a glimpse of his growing maturity, as he smiled with confidence now. "I don't think so."

"I didn't get any of my work done."

He simply shrugged. "You mean the rooms? No bother. That girl, Mirabelle, knows that if they don't get done the king will be furious. And she knows that _I_ know how she lied about which rooms to clean. I think she thought I'd just call the guards on you. Maybe I should have, but even if you're kind of weird and dumb, Mirabelle's just a _brat_. And you know…I don't think my father would be too happy that a servant tried to trick another servant into cleaning his room. He doesn't let anyone enter without permission. So I have a feeling that she's cleaning those two rooms you were supposed to, _really good now_. Because she knows if she doesn't I'll tell my father what she had planned. And everyone around here knows that my father listens to _me_…most the time anyway."

His answer was shocking to Gwen. She had thought for sure he left to call the guards on her. Not only had he _not_ called the guards, he excused her from her yet to be completed duties. "Why would you do that for me?"

Stubborn dismissal came to the prince's face. "I didn't do it for _you_. I told you Mirabelle's a brat so she deserved it. Plus Morgana would be a whining pest if you got sacked. Oh and it wasn't _me_ who did most the convincing anyway. It was Adelaide, because she likes you a lot. I just had to stand there and nod my head as the royal _Prince Arthur_."

"But you still think I'm a dumb girl?"

His lips curved slightly. "Yeah."

"I think you're a bully still."

Her lips curved slightly.

It was a fraction of innocent wonder. A boy and girl looked at each other now with no foreseeing knowledge of what this meeting could mean to their future. No hourglass was there to show it.

Perhaps it could be sweet.

Perhaps it could be nothing.

Perhaps it could be torture.

She was just thankful for his help.

And he was glad he'd done something nice.

_From a bullish boy._

_For a weird girl._

Voices rang in the hallway.

Gwen startled at them. They sounded closer with each step. She had to get out of here.

Arthur was thinking the same thing. He grabbed at her wrist, heading to the doorway on the other side of his quarters, where she could disappear down the opposite hallway. Oddly enough she didn't protest. Maybe she wasn't all that dumb after-all. He opened the door and whispered, "_Go down that way…it takes you to the other side of the castle. They'll never spot you and you can get back to Morgana."_

She nodded her head.

He couldn't help but mock as she pushed away from his grasping hand and he let her wrist go. _"Oh and servant girl…"_

She frowned, which made him smile. She looked kind of funny. _"Don't mistake my quarters for the guest rooms again or you might have to face the wrath of my…boar." _

She countered back strongly, nose raised once more. _"Don't be so mean to your servants and maybe they won't quit so much."_

His eyes widened. She was kind of brave. _"Tell Morgana she owes me."_

Gwen's face showed questioning. The voices were getting closer. He dismissed her quickly. _"Forget it. Better get going before they spot you. Oh and…_

_Guess I'll see you around…"_

She started to dash in the way he told her, as she heard his final word.

"_Guinevere."_

~*~

It was two weeks past when they met again. It was once again not at all planned.

Guinevere was enjoying her new job. Yes, being a servant was hard work, but Morgana was the best mistress she could have ever desired. They really were becoming fast friends. Attending the jousting match together had been so exciting.

She had an important part of her duty to fulfill now though. _Somehow._

She'd be in trouble for sure if her _Dad_ saw what she had in her hands right now. Going far behind the castle, into the woods, she unwrapped it from the cloth. It was a lot heavier than the junior one _he_ had. She really shouldn't have taken this stronger one, but it was for good reason. That's what she told herself anyway. Part of her service was to keep her mistress protected…always.

Gwen swung wildly, nearly dropping the heavy thing. _Oh dear_. That's not how you did it. She swung again, spinning so fast with the force she had to fling it away.

_Oh no_. Now it was dirty. She brushed away all the forest debris from its shine and lifted it again. Gritting her teeth, she swung for the third time, and concentrating hard, she pushed her shoes deeply into the dirt to keep them steady this time. It only half worked, as she half spun.

"Is that a _real_ sword?"

She dropped it.

Eyes wide, he yelled out with caution. "AH…watch your feet!"

Gwen moved away just in time, far back from the falling sword. It landed with a heavy thud against the ground.

Arthur shook his head, just getting his breath back. _The girl was crazy!_

He lifted it with experience.

"It _is_ a real sword."

It wasn't the puny thing he was forced to train with. This was a legitimate weapon of a knight.

He stared at Gwen. Her curled dark hair was pushed away from her face mostly, except for what looked like a few untamed strands. Funny. The sun was shining right over her nose that got its coloring from the rays. She was wearing that simple yellow thing from the first time. And oh yeah…

She just happened to have a fully fledged sword. And she just happened to have swung it so hard that she nearly killed herself. _That's all._ She was completely mad.

"Of course it's a real sword!" Gwen came back strongly now. "My _Dad_ made it, much better than the one you have." She backtracked quickly. "_Oh_…I shouldn't have said that my…_lord_. Arthur. _Prince Arthur_."

He flexed it in his hands with excitement flashing through his sky tinted eyes. It felt brilliant to hold that he didn't even care about her nonsensical rambling. "No. It's a good actually. You're right. Your dad does do fine work. _Wow_…it feels spectacular!"

It was her turn to stare. Wearing a blue tunic and brown pants with a light quilted jacket to appease the still left over wintering chill, his whole face looked happy now. She'd never seen him so…pleased. "It's a bit heavy." She warned.

"True, _eh, but_…well…wait a minute." He stopped completely, lowering the sword to the ground and digging its blade deep into the mud. "_What_ are you doing with it?"

"Practicing."

He frowned. "For what? It's not like you know how to use one."

She fisted her hands at her hips. "You don't know that!"

Arthur laughed dryly. "_Oh_…I definitely know that! You nearly dropped it on your _foot_ Guinevere. Before that you practically fell down from holding it."

"You spied on me?"

He shrugged at her wide eyed question with boyish annoyance. "_Nah_…I just saw you a bit. I was taking a walk in the woods to get away from the palace." He didn't tell her it was really to get away from the young Lady Ysmay. She was staying in the castle for a few days and kept chasing him around, like girls sometimes did. Sure she was pretty, but uh…well it got _annoying_. It was much more fun getting to hold a real sword without his father around to tell him he was too young and all that.

"Well you can go walk back wherever you were walking…I won't bother you…my Lord." Gwen filled in with youthful awkwardness, still not totally comfortable with all the protocol she had to issue him. Not after that first meeting.

"You still haven't told me why you're practicing."

"And I don't have to tell you."

He frowned at that. The girl was stubborn, issuing royal reactions and then…practically telling him what he did was wrong. Thinking it, he smiled now, lifting the weapon out of the mud. "_Fine_, I'll just go down to where your father's forge is and see if he recognizes _this_ sword."

"Oh you wouldn't."

"_Hmmmm…"_

She rolled her eyes at his threat, before relenting. She'd be in so much trouble if he did that. Her _Dad_ would be so disappointed in her too. "Oh fine. I'm practicing so that I can protect my lady. We're to visit a neighboring kingdom in just a few days. I'm told a friendly one, but still I should be prepared as her handmaiden."

His sky blue eyes squinted with disbelief, his head slowly shaking back and forth.

"_Eh_…prepared for _what_?" He dug the sword back into the mud.

Guinevere jumped at the question. "Well for attack of course! It is my duty to safeguard my lady. From bandits. Or hostile kingdoms. Or…_er_…wild ferocious animals!"

Arthur laughed hard, golden head of hair swinging in the wind. "You are the _weirdest_ girl Guinevere. You do realize, _right_, that the guards go with you? They'll protect both of you." That wasn't completely true. Guards looked out first for the noble ones. And he had no doubt since Morgana was the king's ward, they'd keep her safe primarily, leaving Gwen a bit to her own.

"You're just saying that because she knows how to use a sword better than you! _Ooops…well_…well she does." Gwen continued honestly and yet weakly. He _was_ the prince.

Arthur stubbornly dissented. "So _she_ says…but she's WRONG. I'm way better!"

Gwen shook her head resolutely. She was set on this. If Morgana knew how to use a sword, then she would have to learn how to use one too. It was her _duty_ to do this.

She was just horrible at it.

"Doesn't matter. I need to learn how to use it and so I'm going to keep practicing."

He came in now with the name he often heard Morgana call her. They definitely were close now after just two weeks. _Weird_. He never got that way with any of _his_ servants. Of course they were always older and so they infuriated him more than anything. "Yeah…sure…and _stab_ yourself in the process Gwen."

She frowned, pulling at the sword to get it out of the mud, but it didn't seem to want to budge. "UUUHHH…" She grunted hard.

Arthur shook his head. This was _crazy_. The girl was a full-fledged nut, but she was definitely persistent. "I can't let you do this. You're going to hurt yourself!"

"You care?"

"_No!"_ He answered rapidly. "I just don't want to hear all Morgana's _crying_ about it."

Gwen disagreed with his insulting talk of her mistress. "Morgana's not like that. She's tough! _My lord_."

"Hah." Arthur bristled back and pushing her hand away, pulled the sword out of the mud. Taking a look at the small girl, who he knew now was about a year younger than him, he nodded his head with resignation. "Okay. First you need to learn how to hold it in fighting position without dropping it on your foot."

"Don't mock. It's not nice. I'll learn it."

She was so set. Her face was so determined. He told her there would be guards and yet she still insisted. This girl was truly strange and yet also truly…

_Not_ a coward.

"You're right there…you will. Because _I'm_ going to show you how keep it from dropping when you get ready to swing.

Now hold out your hands like this…"

**~*~**

She had stared at him that day when he said those words. She wondered why he wanted to be her teacher, as he did kind of become that.

Now the second day, she traipsed through the woods to meet him in that same spot.

He had taught her on the first day how to hold the sword in the way needed for fighting stance. It amazed her how long you had to hold it in a certain position just to gain control over it. More it amazed her how much he seemed to know. He told her part of it was the coaching he had received, but too a lot was watching the knights since he was able to walk. It thrilled him to see them fight. He was so restless for the day when he could use a real sword that helping her now with this one, was pure fun actually.

She lifted at the winding tree branch and saw him sitting there, eating some meats and cheeses that he had wrapped in some paper. Her stomach grumbled. Her lady hadn't given her too much work, but the king had, making sure that the Lady Ysmay's room was kept in order and that she was tended to during her stay. The girl, the same age as Prince Arthur, was a lot to handle. She was the kind Morgana wasn't, always wanting her glass filled even when the pitcher was right there. Because of having to serve her for hours, Gwen still had yet to eat anything more than the small bit of fruit she had for breakfast. Now so late after the cock's last morning crows, she didn't realize that the day was halfway done already.

Arthur looked up as she came. She seemed a little ragged, more of those tight curls coming out of her hair ribbons. Weird. Shrugging it off with the relaxed mood swings of a young boy, he continued to eat the meat and cheese with a short greeting. "Hello."

He was sitting on a fallen branch. Gwen sat across from him on a stump, taking it out of its wrappings now. "Hello Prince Arthur." Standing with the sword, she held it out like he had taught her, fingers in place to keep control of the weapon. Her stomach grumbled again though. She put it down with a frown, noticing all the good meat he was eating, her mouth salivating, before she turned away.

Her stomach rumbled so hard this time that it could be heard.

Arthur lifted his head, noticing how she was holding at the waist of her dress as she didn't face him. "Was that you?"

She frowned. "Don't be rude."

Arthur laughed at her tight response and lifted the last untouched pieces of the meat and cheese. "I've eaten enough. You seem hungry. Or…at least your stomach does."

She shook her head. "No…I can't…my lord." Sometimes he didn't seem like a prince and other times…he was _definitely_ a prince. He wasn't as bad though as she thought that first day. He did have some…sort of nice things about him.

Arthur grimaced. "Eh…you can't practice when you're hungry. You're just going to drop the sword and if it lands on my foot, I'll call the guards. So eat it."

She didn't look happy about his order, but took the food from him now. She tasted the meat and cheese, closing her eyes for a second. "_Mmm_…this is good."

Arthur smiled. "Yeah…Adelaide cut it all up for me. So your mother didn't make you a lunch?"

Gwen stilled.

"What?"

She filled in soberly. "I have no mother. She died…well years ago. Prince Arthur."

His face whitened. Biting down on his lower lip, the boy became so much younger, so vulnerably innocent, in his heart. "I don't have one either."

Gwen nodded her head. She knew a little, very little. Just that there was…no mother. She had no reason why. How.

"I have memories at least. You know…of my mother."

He wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, at the moment not caring about his clothes getting dirtied. "I have _none_ of mine."

Gwen frowned.

"She died…" He lowered his head. "She died the night I was born. My father didn't want me to know it happened like that, but I found out about a year ago…too hard not to."

Her eyes widened, her hunger pains and even the great tasting cheese and meats forgotten. "I'm-

"Sometimes I think it's my fault."

She stared.

He pushed away at the hurt that invaded his mind now. He didn't want to look weak or cry or-

"You know…because it happened like that. I did something wrong."

Gwen shook her head adamantly now, moving forward to sit down on the ground. It wouldn't be right for her to sit on the log with him, but maybe like this it would be okay. Of course none of _this_ was right, but _he_ still did it. He still taught her. "Don't say that. She wouldn't have wanted you to say such an awful thing_. You can't think that_. You just…"

What words did a girl have when something was this awful? To have lost his mother like that? To think that? "You just _can't_ think those things Arthur…_I mean_…Prince Arthur." She reached out tentatively, touched at the back of his hand.

He looked up.

She bowed her head. "I'm sorry…_um_…I know I shouldn't say your name in a familiar way."

He actually hadn't minded all that much. "_It's alright_. Just don't do it in front of the king."

Gwen lifted her head. She still was touching at his hand. His eyes looked dully unhappy right now. She understood that. It seemed all three of them had dealt with some kind of pain. Morgana lost her father. Gwen lost her mother. And Arthur too lost his, much too early.

Her hand was soft and just a fraction warm. He quickly pushed it away though.

She moved it away.

He got up from the log to pick up the sword and gestured downward. "Finish eating the rest. You don't want to practice fighting when your stomach's all grumbly."

After that order, actually kindly delivered, he walked away some, turned his back to her.

Gwen sighed, and ate the rest of the meat and cheese he had shared with her.

**~*~**

"Okay, I think you're ready to practice your swing now."

Gwen handed him back the sword. For a few moments now after finishing her food, they'd been going over the lesson from the previous day. She watched as he lifted the blade with steely intent now. Standing by, she felt her breath clench some. The wind was ruffling at his golden hair, and yet he paid it no heed, looking at something just beyond.

Making sure she was far enough away, pushing back at her waist lightly as she seemed a little too close, Arthur swung.

Gwen stayed where he directed her to.

The blade whipped with a _whistling_ call, and cut the branch into two. He reacted to it the way he heard the knights do so when they struck a mighty blow.

"Bloody hell that was brilliant!" It felt so free to finally have a real sword in his hands, to deliver a sharp slice with it.

Gwen was as equally impressed that she too used _'knight'_ language.

"_Bloody yes!" _

Her eyes were alive and bright as his. He started laughing and she joined in. It was fun to be away from all the adults, doing something that maybe they shouldn't be, having something they shouldn't have, and sharing the experience together. It was kind of dangerously exciting.

He broke through the fun, attempting to sound like someone still deep in his memory.

"Your turn." He handed her the sword.

Gwen bit down on her lip.

"Afraid?" His question was oddly not teasing, but delivered with the hint of a supporting smile.

She looked up to his questioning eyes, defiance flashing in hers. "No…my Lord."

He doubted that her answer was totally truthful, and yet he admired how sobered her face became. She wasn't as giggling as a lot of other girls, focused instead. "Good."

She lifted the sword into the holding position that he had taught her, feeling the sun's rays escaping the bit of cloud cover in the sky, teasing her back.

Arthur raved again about what she was holding in her hands. "That is one brilliant sword. This blade's cut is so precise. And it's not that hard to hold. You know, it has a solid grip."

Gwen nodded her head. "Those are two of the things my _Dad_ says are most important."

Arthur agreed. He'd seen fancier ones, but it didn't matter. Those kinds often weren't made well enough for their true purpose. It wasn't a _decoration_, but a part of a knight's imperative arsenal.

Gwen looked back, seeing him standing there behind watching her with sparks of blue focused on by the sun. "Okay, what do I do now…_my_…uh Lord?"

She sounded a bit nervous even though he could tell she was trying to pretend she wasn't. Arthur took a step closer and showed her how to position her hands. "Keep that solid grip, and just try a practice swing, okay. Because the sword's heavy. So don't let it trip you or anything. Just try a swing. _Here_…" He moved away. "I'll step back…Alright…now just swing Gwen."

She did as he told her, but the sword was too hefty and her balance had yet to be fully achieved.

Seeing that she was near to falling, Arthur came forward, steadying her arm and getting the sword back from her. "Alright…_don't give up_. That's what Sir Hadrian told me when he was first teaching me how to use one, well the junior one. I was only five then."

"Sir Hadrian?"

Arthur nodded with memory. "Yes. He was one of the strongest knights I've ever seen. He was so brave Gwen. It was like he wasn't afraid of anything. But he also was a knight in the other way, you know? He was gallant…and respectful. He truly…well…I may be just a boy still, but I knew then, and I know now, he truly was what a knight should be."

"What happened to him?"

Arthur looked down at the ground, kicking a stone across to hit at the tree stump with a miniature jarring. The cloud cover half shadowed his face. "It wasn't in battle. You would think a knight like him would go that way. It wasn't even a sorcerer or anything wildly frightening like that. It was just some reckless man who came to Camelot. He had been married to one of the servant women. He held a knife at her, you know a much sharper dagger than the one I have. Sir Hadrian saw it and stepped in during night patrol, guards all around, but they didn't hear the spectacle. He saved her easily, injuring the man, he thought fatally. There was a little girl though. She came running across so fast, because the servant woman took care of her when her mother wasn't around. She wanted to hug her and…"

The boy's expression was heavy, echoing the thickness of the cloud that huddled over.

"Well everything got bad then. There was no time. To save her, Sir Hadrian stood in the way. He took the flying blade, meant for the woman, but that the girl interfered with. I guess he could have just tried to end the man's life, but he cared more about the little girl getting caught in the middle. She was fine. And the woman was fine.

_He died_."

Gwen frowned with sadness at the story. Too many things like that happened in the villages too.

"Is that why you're always awful with your servants?"

Arthur shrugged, saying nothing, as he slowly waved the sword down at the ground.

"You miss him."

It was not a question. The boy lifted his eyes. "He was better than any servant who has tended to me. So much of who he was…made me want to listen. And he didn't just say _yes_…or _no_. He had a lot _more_ to say."

"Arthur?"

"Hmmm…"

She forgot it again and he didn't remind her. "Is that who's in the picture in your room, in that portrait?"

He wondered about her noticing it, but it was a strongly striking pose the man held. "Yeah, that's him."

Gwen nodded her head solemnly. More about this boy was starting to make sense to her.

She probably had no right to say it, and yet she did, firmly. She wanted him to remember, to understand what he said about him and how it had affected the prince he was, and maybe the king he could be. "Think of who he was…what he taught you. I know you want to fight with a real sword, but your father is probably just worried about how it could hurt you. Maybe Sir Hadrian understood that…and would want you to be patient. Maybe he knew…

Your time would come…

My Lord."

Arthur frowned, clearly showing his flawed impatience. "I hate waiting."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "That's not all that hard to tell."

The wind picked up again. They both smiled as it rustled opposite colored strands of hair at their individual foreheads.

"_Alright_…back to it." Arthur clapped his hands.

Gwen didn't try to soften the moment again. She was like him in such way. She didn't stay sad for very long about anything. Life was too busy even as children.

He cocked his eyebrow now with question. "You know…maybe this is a waste of time. How do you plan to get a real sword anyway? You can't take this one with you. The guards would see."

Gwen shrugged. "Well I could snatch one up from one of them if I have to. I just want to be prepared if they _can't_ help. That's all. I know the guards will be there, but if anything happens, I want to know what to do. I don't just want to sit there like some scared little girl. And I want to show my Lady that I know how to use a sword if need be. You may think that's silly, but to me it matters."

She lifted her head so high, for a second looking a bit older even than the little girl she was. Maybe she wasn't like every other dumb girl. "Okay. I guess that makes sense. Then if that's what you want you're going to have to keep practicing how to swing without getting off kilter. Now here…maybe we're trying to get you to hold it to high. Take light swings really slowly, over and over until it feels that you're not going to fall."

Gwen lowered the sword a little like he told her, and kept swinging from different positions, until one place at the middle she didn't feel as wobbly on her feet. She smiled. "_There_…I swung and didn't fall!"

He grinned. "Yeah that was good…okay we'll work with it there then."

_~*~_

Gwen returned to the rear palace gardens from _another_ trip to the kitchen, wiping at her sweating brow. With the Lady Ysmay and her father Lord Wykeham visiting for the past days, Gwen's service continued to be more busied than usual. Unfortunately Lady Morgana was not a part of her service in the gardens this afternoon. That might have made it better. Her lady had actually apologized to her profusely for having a previously planned meeting with her old nurse, whose sister was starting a slow recovery. Gwen hadn't understood why her dear mistress felt the need to give regrets, until _now_.

Morgana had been the one tending to Ysmay mostly during her stay. Now that she was busy, the king had made other arrangements, ordering Gwen responsible for their success. A whole group of children was with Lady Ysmay, including the Duke's son and Lord Brom's Children. And then there was of course Prince Arthur, taking over Morgana's usual place.

As Gwen walked rapidly down the path through the gardens to the tables, she could see how Prince Arthur was running back and forth with the rest of them. They seemed busied in a slightly differed version of hide and seek, going behind tall bushes to not be found. Much laughter rang out that made her smile for a second with melancholy emotion. It made her miss her time in Shonore when she had been so young that she didn't have so much to worry about. They were not much older than her and yet they still were allowed to play that way because they were royalty. Letting go of her sadness, she straightened her nose, lifted her face, and made her way to the tables.

It was an unfortunate accident that at that moment, Benedict, one of Lord Brom's large brood, ran to get away from the seeker. He raced right into Gwen, causing the tray she was carrying to fly upward in the air, and the drinks to fall to the ground. All of this happened _after_ the dark red juice stained her dress, and the force of his round body made her tumble back into the grasses.

Arthur heard it as one of the girls laughed. Looking up, he saw that Benedict _Rolly Polly_, the way he liked to privately refer to him, was down on the ground, and so it seemed was Gwen. He started to race forward from his bush.

This had _not_ been his idea. It was of course his father's, and with the man being the king, Arthur had no choice but to heed his royal order. He'd actually rather be across the way with the knights like he had planned for this afternoon, getting to watch some of their practice and participate a bit as he trained with his _puny _sword, but at least it would have been with men of honor in shining chainmail.

Because of Morgana's other obligation though, he was here with the group of kids who he'd known long enough and yet sometimes they bored him terribly. Plus Lady Ysmay kept chasing him around. Sure she was pretty with all her golden waves, but nothing for him had solidly changed even after spending this time with the other boys and girls. Maybe he wanted to grow up too fast. Who knew? Perhaps he was too restless, but as fun as their somewhat changed version of hide and seek could be, and yes he was laughing along with the rest of them as someone was captured and put into the _'dungeon'_ to face the _'dragon'_ before they tried to make a hiding run for it, he still was missing out on all the grown up fun with the knights.

A distraction was welcome then, except for this one didn't make him smile. Benedict was a big boy, a wide boy, who was a lot taller than Gwen, and a lot thicker than her. Sure she was just a servant and it would have been dismissed, Arthur could guess, by his father, but it _wasn't_ being dismissed by the prince as he rushed.

Some of the others got there first, the girls giggling and the boys snickering, as much ribbing Benedict as they made fun of Gwen's predicament, not helping either at all.

"Fie Benedict…" Leofrick, the Duke's son, thin, tall, and the oldest at twelve, mocked. "You're like a barrel, rolling right over her."

Lady Emeline, the youngest at barely ten, and yet months older than Gwen, tittered with girlish fun. "She's a mess!"

Benedict, definitely pudgy, moved away now from the servant girl, actually looking apologetic. Gwen pushed away from his arm that had landed across her lower leg. Pushing down on her skirts to smooth them out at least a little, she could feel the wetness soaking through her dress from the spilled juice.

Arthur got to the crowd of kids now, having been smart enough to hide the furthest away from the capturing _'dragon'_ who had been Henry, eleven years old, and the one Arthur got on with the best.

As he approached, Lady Ysmay turned to him. "She's not a very pretty servant girl, is she?"

The others were laughing at the comment. Leofrick actually started to help Benedict now, but no one assisted Gwen. Arthur took a step toward her, and then heard it. He grimaced. She still wasn't getting up, but at least she had her eyes open under the half cloudy skies.

"You're going to have to get us new drinks, servant girl." Lady Thea, the middle of Lord Brom's brood, ordered, as Arthur placed another foot over the ground.

She still hadn't gotten up on her own.

"And next time watch out for _Rollaround Benedict_." Leofrick added with teasing. "You're a servant. You're going to have to learn how to dodge any…_wild dragons_."

"_Hah_…" They were all laughing.

"Yeah, she will, won't she Arthur?" Henry asked with a smirk.

Having had _enough_, Gwen ignored the wet state of her dress now and pushed off the ground.

Arthur lowered his head, wishing he had just made the move. _Sir Hadrian would have_. It wasn't all his fault though. He had wanted to be training with the _knights_ today.

"Isn't her name Gwen?" Emeline asked with a high voice. "What an awfully horrible name."

"Actually it's _Guinevere_."

Gwen turned around now to face him. The prince's eyes were a hard blue under the fading threat of clouds that the sun played its _own_ game of hide and seek with.

"And no, I don't think it's awfully horrible."

She stared, stunned that he would remember and say it in front of his…friends.

Ysmay, a tiny tinge of jealousy running through her, sneered at the girl. "Well don't just stand there looking like a wet chicken. Get us our new drinks."

Henry, Arthur's closest friend, put his arm around the boy and actually came back at Ysmay. "Ah, stop being _Lady Pain In the You Know What_."

Shaking her head, Gwen bent down to scoop up the tray and all its mess. She had work to do so let them tease each other back and forth. She would just quietly ignore it, and anything they called her. Rude boys and girls. Except maybe…

Gritting his teeth, Arthur watched, before feeling his friend poking at him, calling him by his teasing nickname. "Come on _Arthy_…you're next to be dragon. Can't let Benedict do it, even though it's supposed to be his turn. He'll flatten one of the girls for real this time."

Arthur couldn't help but laugh at that. It was usually Henry who could get him to smile, and it was good how he let Ysmay have it because at the moment she deserved it.

Henry slapped the prince on the back. Arthur let out a dragon's howl. All the kids scattered around and the chasing hide and seek game started again. Forgetting the knights for now, and her, Arthur turned around to see who was the closest. _Ah_…perfect.

She squealed as he started running after her.

Ysmay didn't even have time to hide before Arthur caught at her arm. "Got you!"

"_Oh please don't put me in the dungeon fiery Dragon."_ She pretended fear like the game was played, enjoying it because for a long time she had a…crush on Prince Arthur.

He snickered at that. "You get to join all the other _wet chickens_."

She frowned, knowing _why_ he was saying it. "I was only teasing!"

"It was kind of mean." He commented as he led her to the _'dungeon'_, basically an area under a wide branched tree.

"She's just a servant, Arthur! You're always mean to yours."

He frowned.

Ysmay rolled her eyes, but then smiled graciously. "Okay, I'm sorry. But you don't want me to say that to her, do you? Our fathers always tell us we never have to apologize to a _servant_. I don't think the king would want _you_ to."

He grimaced. It was true. His father always made it clear that servants were _below_ them. Ushering her into his _'dragon dungeon lair'_, he shrugged. "If you try to escape, I'll chase you."

Ysmay smiled. "Well the running's always fun. Go on _dragon_. Get your next capturee…then I can run away."

Arthur raised his eyebrow. "You'd dare."

She smiled. "Sure."

He rolled his eyes and went to get his next one. Dumb girl.

Yet…

She wasn't totally cowardly.

Across the field, Gwen was done picking everything up and making her return to the kitchen, her dress wet against her skin. Noticing them now smiling at each other, looking like they were teasing, she turned away. It didn't matter.

They were noble.

She was peasant.

And that was _always_ how it would be.

**~*~**

The next day Gwen got there first, not even sure if she should be waiting. Once again she had neglected to eat lunch because of having so much to do for Lady Ysmay. One weird thing though, the girl had actually quietly apologized for all their wildness from the day before, and made sure that she was okay, not hurt from Benedict's run-into. Gwen gratefully thanked the girl, even as she wondered.

Did it maybe have to do with Prince Arthur?

Well no matter. The prince was certainly not her friend, and of course the girl only bothered to give her regrets when no other kids were around. It was like the prince too. He was only nice to her when they were here at this spot, except for the one thing he had said about her name. It was shocking he had done that with the whole group there.

As the sun gained more exposure this day than the two past, she questioned silently again what she was doing in the spot.

"Hi."

Gwen startled, jumping up to see him standing there. She got it out with unplanned harsh formality. "_Good day_ Prince Arthur."

He frowned at that, taking it from his bag. She seemed not happy about the day before. "I brought you some more meats and cheeses from Adelaide, just in case you didn't eat again. Remember, I don't want any swords dropping on my toes."

She looked away.

Arthur sighed, his boyish face showing resignation. "Are you okay?"

She turned back around to him, her forehead crinkling beyond her young years.

"Benedict's pretty big." He noticed now how she wasn't wearing that stained yellow dress, but an orange and white one. The other one was probably still being cleaned.

"Lady Ysmay apologized."

Arthur's eyebrows came up with surprise. "She did?" They had finished their game of dragon hide and seek right as Gwen came back with their new drinks. He had captured Ysmay twice, Henry once, and Emeline three crazy times because the girl didn't know how to run. The others actually got away. How Benedict managed it was a wild mystery. Arthur supposed it was because he took pity on him after the fall. The boy kept limping. Since Gwen _wasn't_ now, seemed she fared better.

"Yes, this morning. Of course when no one else was around."

Arthur shrugged. "Of course." Still he was slightly impressed. "Anyway, it was a one day thing. It was all my father's idea and you can't argue with the king. I would have rather been doing sword practice with the knights."

She couldn't help but tease, feeling a little more regular again now that they were away from all the confines of the castle. "With your _puny_ sword?"

He smirked angrily at that.

She laughed.

Arthur did too and told her to eat her meats and cheeses.

Gwen decided not to reject it as her stomach started its timely rumbling again. Besides, this was the last lesson, and she wanted to make sure she learned well. She and the Lady Morgana would be making the trek tomorrow.

_~*~_

Standing at the tree's target branch now, Gwen held up the sword, hearing Arthur's instruction.

"Okay, now just swing at it, maybe picturing something you don't like."

She smiled at that, taking a look back at him sharply. "Or someone?"

That question surprised Arthur as he nodded his head slowly. "Uh…_yeah_…I guess if you have someone in mind."

She grinned, a mischievous girl.

He swallowed. A frightened boy?

Gwen was ready. They had practiced this more than a handful of times yesterday and every swing she had missed the branch or cut at the wrong part. This time she knew she was prepared to slice it like he had, with precision. It was funny to see his uncertainty about her smile. He was probably trying to figure out who she was picturing as she got ready her swing.

_Well he could keep guessing_.

She swung.

The branch cracked, splitting right down the middle.

Gwen jumped up and down with youthful excitement.

Arthur could barely contain his, but one more thing if she was really going to do this. "Okay, you against me. You get the big sword and I get the _puny_ one." He smirked.

She lifted the sword and tried to balance it like he had taught her. Arthur swung first. Gwen shocked back at it, so he didn't complete the swing.

He complained strongly. "You have to hit back Gwen if you want to do this.

Unless you're _scared_." He mocked now. "After all you have the big sword and I have the dull junior one.

_Come on_…hit back at me!

I know you're still mad about the kids being brats yesterday."

She frowned hard, raising her sword. "Well you can be one too!"

He smiled at that before objecting. "I'm a _prince_. You can't talk to me like that servant girl."

She hit forcefully. He had to block. Good one. Still he lured with his blade tip. "Come on…that's barely a hit!"

He swiped down against her sword, spurring her to block. Arthur was being careful though. She had learned this in less than a few days and she was actually doing good at it, but still she was just a girl, a small one at that, and he knew better than her how swords worked.

Gwen intercepted his blade with hers, gritting her teeth with determination.

He watched it with wonder. This was the way to fight. Maybe she was little and just a girl servant, but she showed more courage than most of them, all those _yes no_ servants. "That's it…come on!"

He backed up with her. Gwen came at him. They volleyed back and forth. Kids with no adults to supervise, they did their treacherous act with fun and hard intent. Once again no division stood between them. Each impressed the other. She could see why he wanted a real one, because he was begrudgingly a solid teacher and even better at the fight. He could tell that she was serious about protecting her Lady and that if she ever had to do it, she'd probably be pretty scary. So they were kids, who shouldn't be hiding in a forest with a real sword snatched away from one of their parents for these moments, but together they were learning. Together they were experiencing what the other was.

_Would this lead to some great friendship or more?_

_Would it be forgotten?_

She hit hard enough to get him off balance. It was _enough_. It would be what she'd have to do. It was time receding the sun's full's power, after this final lesson had started, after all her losses and breaks in between where with a boy's growing maturity he counseled her to not give up. Sir Hadrian never would have.

It was that final moment that they could stay in this spot of the forest that no one knew they came to, that she had her little, and yet strong enough victory.

He frowned hard, having to get his footing back as she lifted the sword away.

Gwen bit down on her lip, not sure if he was angry.

He still didn't smile. "You did it."

She frowned too. "Yeah."

Steely precision was in both their eyes that went beyond their childhood years, that _whispered_ their purpose in life.

His lips curved to a boy's full happiness. "You DID it Guinevere!" He yelled out now.

It was a moment of excitement, of total abandon, of _knight's_ strong reaction.

"Bloody Yes!"

He laughed. She did too and jumped forward, leapt against his shoulders.

Hugged the boy who someday could become king of her, and all the people of Camelot.

He startled at it, before awkwardly bringing his hands around her little shoulders.

She dropped her hands down his, so rapidly embarrassed. "Oh I'm-

He shook his head, thinking for the first time.

Gwen was pretty.

_Guinevere_ was.

For a dumb girl anyway.

He was a bully, but also a good teacher.

_Prince Arthur_.

Childhood was still so innocent, even for the hard-worked girl and the boy who had ominous duty to come. It was a simple pleasure. In this place, far away from it all…

They became friends.

Too bad in only a few days they'd forget the innocence.

_Until…_

**~*~**

"**Practicing to protect your Lady again?"**

**She still smiled at the voice, the new words, lowering the sword to the table. "No, just returning this to Sir John after repairing it." **

**She turned around. He marveled for a second at how she had…**_**altered**_**. He supposed. Maybe that was not the right word, but he found himself a little not so sure what to call it, what to say, like the nights before when he told her that she never failed to surprise him. That had felt awkward and, not **_**exactly**_** what he was thinking. It was just something about her growth though, the way things changed between male and female, maybe…**_**or**_**…he wasn't sure. **

**Lately she took to wearing her hair down more with those flowers she had sprinkled it with since being a little girl, entering her first days of palace service. They suited her. She was of course now taller, but still what all men called petite. Now she had the curves of…**

_**A woman**_**.**

**And yet that fighting spirit was still there, returning past both their awkward later days. **

**And years after maybe falling to some kind of stupid sleep…**

**He was **_**waking**_** again.**

**Seeing not just Gwen.**

**But **_**Guinevere**_**.**

**She marveled even more. Years past that time he reminded her of now, Arthur was handsomely the man she always knew he would be in looks. All the boyish aura was gone, except for that naïve expression he would get sometimes when his brow relaxed. His dedication to his arsenal since being so young had formed him physically into a man of full brawn who now rightfully was leader of the knights, and Crown Prince of Camelot. **

_**Sir Hadrian would have been proud she imagined**_**. **

**What interested her so intensely though, was that with each day he was showing more of his true spirit, **_**beyond**_** his father. He displayed his heart sometimes, making her feel a tingling awareness. A yearn that still embarrassed her. **

**As she saw him beyond prince.**

**And even future king.**

**As she saw him as just…**

_**Arthur**_**. **

"**You remember?" She frowned at the marks on his face, one lining his eye so harshly.**

**He nodded his head with a slight smile. "Sure. You thought I forgot?"**

"**I've wondered sometimes." **

**Of course he was still arrogant many days and disappointed her like that one years back when he had his friends around. There were things she truly believed he had yet to learn. Maybe she did too. **_**No being was perfect**_**. They never spent the time enough anymore though to learn from each other like they had in that forested spot as children. Their lives turned so far from each other's even though she still served the dwelling he called his home.**

**He could see that she wondered. They had only gone back to that spot one more time, and it had been for short moments. Months after, he was allowed to start training with the **_**real**_** sword in limited capacity. It was enough though. He kept his old friends and made some new ones. For some years he got a little cocky about it all. He would mock every servant with his friends. That is until this most recent one. **_**Merlin**_** was an idiot. And yet Merlin was the first one, who didn't just say **_**yes**_** or **_**no**_** all the time. Merlin was crazy…but brave. **

**Kind of like her. **

**And kind of **_**definitely**_** not. **

_**Merlin would never look as good in a dress as she did**_**.**

**He took a few steps forward into the room.**

"**You wanted to protect your new Lady. So you came to me to learn how to fight."**

**She grimaced skeptically. "It **_**wasn't **_**exactly like that." **

**He laughed. He was past twenty one now. She was just twenty. "Well that's to be debated I suppose."**

**She was having a hard time believing all this. Just a few nights ago she saved him from the flying gargoyle-like creature. He teased as she did the second time, when she landed on him. Then he told her that she always surprised him. **_**This**_**, after years of acting like she barely mattered, and her resigning him back to that initial state. A bully. Now that prince of before was coming back with maybe even something more vital. **_**Now**_** that prince was slowly showing the king he was not as far away to become. And it intrigued her. It reassured her. **

**He continued. "So as I recall, you attended your mistress that day. You both rode out with the guards, like I reminded would accompany you. And you saw **_**something**_** leap out of the tree. It made you get scared for your lady so you…"**

**She rolled her eyes. He **_**did**_** remember. Too much. "I didn't **_**see**_** it that clearly."**

**His expression was sobered, hard with purpose. "**_**No**_**, not until it was right in front of your blade, you know the sword that you snatched from the guard's bag on his horse. And you swung so hard Guinevere…you **_**knocked**_** that…**

_**Squirrel**_** right out of that tree."**

**He smirked.**

**She looked down, mortified just like she had that day she had to tell him what happened when he insisted the details, when for a few seconds they were still escaping kids. "At least I didn't kill it. **_**Oh…but it was awful**_**. I murdered its sitting branch."**

**He laughed fully now, smiling down at her for long moments. "You're a **_**squirrel branch offender**_** Guinevere. Guilty as charged."**

**She turned away with that embarrassment still strong again.**

**He caught at her arm.**

**She looked up, touched at his hurt eye, feeling him flinch.**

"_**Ow."**_

"**Sorry."**

**He shook his head. "But you **_**did**_** learn how to be a **_**brilliant**_** sword fighter. You proved that in Merlin's hometown, remember?"**

**She smiled, lifting a tie from her dress. "Here…**_**Sire**_**…take care of that eye. Like you helped me take care of my knee."**

**He gave her a wondering look now, holding at the tie and bringing it to his eye before lowering it again. "You remember that?"**

**Her eyes sparked. "Of course."**

**She turned away. She had duty. She had her lady, her dearest friend in all the world. Her life had changed that day she was picked…**

**For many reasons.**

**He called out.**

"**Guinevere…"**

**She turned back around, "Yes my Lord?"**

**He fixed his eyes on hers. "Do you still get lost around the palace?"**

**She shook her head quickly. "Of course not. Never."**

**He nodded his head.**

**She started to walk away again.**

**Before he whispered it.**

"_**Too bad."**_

**~*~**

"**Milady? Morgana?"**

**Guinevere entered the room she was so familiar with now that had those double Pine doors at its front. She no longer had to put a tie on its handle or that of any other room. She knew the palace intimately. She frighteningly even knew its dungeon. And with sad regret, she knew its throne room where judgment was placed, once on her, unfairly. Once on her father. **_**Fatefully**_**. She didn't cry any tears now. She wept them all that day. It was her most solid pain still. It was a bit of why that man in the hallway still could disappoint her. Even if his part in it had been minimal, it was mostly what he…**

_**Hadn't**_** done. **

**Then, years ago, she had no mother. Now too she had no father.**

**Only memories.**

**Still she smiled, holding flowers in her hand and taking them to the table. She still had her Lady. Oh Morgana was not just even that. She was like the dearest sister. She loved her fully and was so grateful that Morgana saw more in her that day than just the little inexperienced girl she was. **

**Now, thinking of her dear mistress, **_**where was she?**_** "Morgana?" She called out again.**

**The door opened. **_**Ah**_**…finally her mistress. "Milady…" She smiled with a small curtsy of respect that was not at all tied into formality.**

**Morgana walked in with shining happiness. Some nights it could be hard to sleep, like the past when she dreamed about the awful creatures that came to life through sorcery and nearly destroyed all of Camelot, but the girl before here always tempered that horridness. Gwen had been in her employ now for about eleven years and not one day did Morgana regret her girlhood choice. Gwen was not only loyal, but feisty, fun, dear, and had this shining bravery in hurt that would have defeated most others. Gwen was not even royalty, and yet Morgana considered her handmaiden her best friend with no one to come close in equaling. Gwen was so much more than any other lady of nobility. She had such honor and sense of hard work about her. **

**Before her, Morgana had been a lonely girl, boring of teasing the young Arthur. She had a dear nurse then, but it was never quite enough. Now she had a special comrade to go to tourneys and other events with. She had someone to call out to when the nightmares became terrifying, who would hold her in her sweet embrace and make her feel safe. Gwen was most like her sister than anything. She cherished her. **

"**Gwen…I have something for you."**

**The handmaiden took a surprised step back. "Milady?"**

**Morgana stepped forward, holding a full bushel of them. "**_**Here**_**…remember your first day with me? When you brought me such a lovely bunch from by the creek? Well that is where I picked these. I thought this particular color could go well with one of your garments."**

**Gwen took them from her lovely mistress who was dressed this day in deep blues, with a wondering smile. "They match my lavender dress, and go with the flowers on my apron."**

**Morgana nodded her head, thinking the dress Gwen was wearing today was quite lovely. She noticed that lately, how her friend and handmaiden wore her hair in more delicate ways and that she had taken some of the scraps of material she had given her and made out of them beautiful gowns that accented her frame so nicely. "Yes…I think they would look wonderful in your hair, all those curls you have."**

**She smiled warmly. Gwen did too, hugging her mistress now. "Thank you Milady."**

**Morgana pulled away, holding at the girl's hands. "No, thank **_**you**_** Gwen. You've made living in this palace…so much nicer. You are the best handmaiden I could have…and the best friend."**

**Gwen emotionally disengaged their hands, put the flowers down, and pointed to the table. "I picked you some flowers too."**

**Morgana's emerald eyes sparked with deep approval. "They're lovely as always." **

**She added playfully, **_**"Now come on…"**_

**She held at the girl's hand. Together they sat down on the bed. Gwen still felt awkward about it, but her mistress had practically demanded it from her first days of service. For a few short moments they would sit together and just…**

_**Talk.**_

_**Gossip.**_

_**Rant.**_

_**Rave.**_

"**So Arthur has a nice shiner now."**

**Gwen nodded quietly. "Uh…yes."**

**Morgana wondered, but didn't say anything.**

**Gwen brought in the memory of earlier. Her mistress did not know **_**who**_** had taught her it, but of course what the result of that teaching was, she **_**did**_** know. "I was returning Sir John's Sword a bit before, and I recalled that day with the squirrel."**

**Morgana laughed fully, her head falling back to bring her ebony loveliness all around to frame. "Oh my goodness…yes! You were protecting me. Remember the guard's faces?"**

"**Yes!" Gwen laughed now too. "They had their mouths wide open."**

"**Oh and one kidded if there was such thing as **_**lady knights**_**…"**

"**Well barring nobility rules, I could be one!"**

"**Ha ha…yes! **

**They continued to enjoy their shared time, **_**the handmaiden and the Lady**_**. **

**The happy…**

**Innocent **

**Time…**

**When she met her lady.**

**And the once and future king.**

~*~

_**Love is such friendship…**_

_**Dwelling in beautiful innocent pleasure.**_

_**Love cannot stop there though.**_

_**It has two other dwellings.**_

_**Two years into the future not yet seen…**_

_**Blood fills. **_

_**Pain screams.**_

_**Hearts rip.**_

_**Truth forsakes.**_

_**In the fieriest dwelling.**_

_**hell.**_

~*~

_To be continued…_

In **Love's 2****nd**** Cycle**

_**Bleed**_

~*~

Thank you for reading. Feedback is adored. I will be back with the second part ASAP.


	2. Chapter 2

**Love's 2****nd**** Cycle:** _Bleed_

Written for **Camelot_love**'s 14 days of a/g fic

This part focuses on…you will find out soon.

This is the 2nd cycle of the story, based on the quote prompt by **jeyla4ever**.

Spoilers: S.1&S.2 only

This cycle moves into the future, slightly cannon, slightly AU, a lot of angst for this one.

Rating: Moves into higher Teen area. I had a question about the rating and I actually may modify it, but yes, to that question, the story will go up in rating. I'm just not sure yet how much and mostly I wanted to be safe with FF's guidelines, so I may modify that if it needs to be. Thanks!

Thanks so much for the wonderful feedback. I just started working a new job so that's partly the reason for the delay. Also, sometimes I post faster at my LJ, so if you want the link feel free to PM me. Any stories I post there are open to all. But good news to those reading, the next update will up soon because actually I just completed it.

Note: For this part, I'm including a natural disaster (_something not having to do with magic or battle_), specifically an earthquake, because I wanted the type that I would be familiar with. I've been in smaller tremors and the Loma Prieta earthquake. I know those don't compare to the large ones in Haiti and Chili, but they do give me some understanding of this type of disaster. Please be gently warned of this dark part of the story, but know I will deal with it with as much compassion as I can.

**--**

**Love's 2****nd**** Cycle:** _Bleed_

"_**Love is a friend, a fire, a hell**_

_**Where pleasure, pain and repentance dwell."**_

~**Richard Barnfield**

**--**

_**Love is not meant to sustain in peaceful gentle innocence,**_

_**It too can reside in the thorned gates of**_

_**-**_

_**-**_

_**-**_

_**hell**_

**--**

_**Love is torn from its beauty**_

_**Left to shiver in torrid colds and burn in freezing fires…**_

_**Its opposite of what it's supposed to be, **_

_**leaves it with no safe pleasurable dwelling anymore**_

_**As it descends**_

_**Falls**_

_**To a habitation filled with hazards to induce the heart's bleeding.**_

_**For love is the shrillest pain**_

_**When**_

_**Forced to reside in**_

_**hell**_

**--**

It was not a sorcerer, nor a battled attack from another land. It was said to be the earth's own fury, or perhaps it was some force beyond. There had in the past been many stories of this anomaly, and yet it was mostly a physical roaring of disproportion. It tore at the land, making it tremble with awe. Nothing to describe it seemed to make sense. It was just well known that no magic created this.

Instead maybe a fragileness in the surface.

It was called a tremor.

It was called a multitude of tremors.

An earth…

Quake.

As it started to rock the castle with no previous invitation to the party, guests reacted. Figures dressed in full celebratory splendid regalia forgot the patterns of their fine clothing as they jostled like untamed beasts for cover. Uncivilized fearful shouts called from one area to the next.

In the bustling torridly steaming kitchen below them, the firing flames began in domino falling fashion to escape their ovens. The strained columns leaned to. The screeches were the shrillest, as poorly dressed workers raced to not burn or fall to the kiss of doom from the crumbling walls.

Back above, in the finer room, the banquet room, now being shown it was equal for attempt of destruction by this tempest force, he lifted his crowned head, noticing the swinging of the iron heavy lights above him.

This way…_that_…sway to the left, _wrench_ to the right.

Grabbing hold of her hand, he pushed down to the floor, forcing her with him below the thick oak table. It should hold, and yet if one of those lights came down…

She was frightened. Her thin long fingers were trembling in his. He tried to reassure, hearing the anxious calls from his father across the way.

Looking forward, he noticed his servant going down to the floor with the old man, holding at him arm to protect him.

The crowned one mouthed in signal. Only seconds ago the familiar lavender skirts had pushed by his watching eyes.

_Where is she?_

The servant shook his head with franticness.

_I don't know._

His heart tremored just like the earth did, and yet he still held at the lady under the table with him.

The walls rocked.

New screams sounded from below.

_Below…_

He looked at his servant again, the dark haired figure seeming too busy with the old man in the doorway. They were like family. His servant didn't have to hide his affection for the physician. The servant only had one secret.

It was a mortally dangerous one.

Roars from below shrilled. They were hideously ugly, echoed by what sounded like human terror.

_Was she there?_

Silently, no hands clasped, no physical show of it for what it would betray, he prayed, already down on his knees.

_Please…_

_No._

The rocking wasn't ceasing.

If you looked, like the crowned one did now, you could actually see the walls in diagonal ludicrous position. Your eyes still could not take it in that well, because before you knew it, they crossed to the opposite side.

The earth swayed in the most violent dance, juggling its partners of humans around as if they were weightless. All around the room were those who did like he had, scrambled under tables, to doorways, to corners of the wall when all other spots were taken, and there were the less fortunate, the panicked who ran wildly, until a chip of stone stopped them harshly.

_Stop this. _

She, the beautiful woman whose hand he held so tightly, shivered against him. She wanted comfort and yet he barely had any to give. Without the one nearby whom he thought of so painfully now, he grasped the woman's fingers with more desperation.

It was the oddest contradiction of emotion.

It was as insane as this THING that played with the land like it was its toy to be frolicked with.

A heavy portrait crashed to the ground. He watched with widened eyes as it just missed one of the noble ladies, a knight pulling her away in time.

Goblets of red wine rolled off the table's edge to clamber against the stone floor with splatters of scarlet.

Across the way was his father, but the older man too was under the table on its farthest end and so he could not see for his father's safety.

One fiercer furious jolt came, causing renewed screams.

What did it do down there? What was their fate?

_Where was she? _

One more groan of an unhappy surface and then…

Just like it had started with no preparation of warning…

It all stopped.

Everything ceased.

And now revealed…

Sounds of people.

Moans of hurt…

Groans of blood perhaps being shed…

Whispers of death's threatening call.

It was an evil wonder. It lasted less than a minute, and yet _it_ caused so much terror in the seconds it rocked the palace.

He looked to two places. First he tried to spot his father anxiously. Sir Leon the Knight had been near him. Now he could see him assisting…_ah…thankfully_ his father. Then he looked in the opposite direction. One more person in this room he had to check upon and one…

_Below._

The servant with his wry luck had managed to keep the old man safe and to come out of it unhurt himself. So there was _that_ relief.

Pushing one hand down, not realizing he bled on the other, he slid across the littered floor. Just seconds ago it had shined spectacularly with polish from the hours of servant work put upon it. Now it looked dustier than it would on a day of poor cleaning.

Presently the room actually resembled a cave with stoned blockades, marbled pieces of the castle's walls torn from them like amputated limbs.

As on his knees, reduced by nature's reminding awesomeness, he moved across the floor, he could feel now all its roughness of debris. Holding tight to her hand, he made sure she slid with him.

Forced to the lowest state by the earth's tremors, they all were down to the level of servant, everyone's hair dusted with gray stone sprinklings. They all looked like unkempt peasants except for their regal dress that even now too was spoilt by the quake.

No one cared about that silly state as some moaned in agony, having not been able to escape a falling stone piece in time or whatnot. It seemed in this room there was no death, and yet fully there was injury.

He fought for calm in his mind like he maintained in battle, but this was not even like sorcery, so unexplained and misunderstood. This he could not raise a sword, or dagger or arrow or lance…or _any_ kind of weapon to end. This he had no control of…nothing to fight, and that made this hellish.

There was no enemy, for how can the land you step upon every day be called your villain?

Half stumbling on his red cloak, now looking like his servant had poorly prepared it, he struggled for balance as holding onto her hand, with effort he came to stand.

She turned to him. There was terrorized shock in her deep blue eyes that almost perfectly matched his, to go with her luxurious waves of golden hair. It looked like nothing physically had harmed her. Thank heaven for that. Pushing back at some of the golden wayward strands, he removed minute particles of castle wall with little success.

Dusty gray _raindrops_ came down from the palace's disturbed ceilings and walls to decorate all with stone ugly remembrance of this horrific night that started so…

_Happy._

"My Lord…" She breathed, her body shaking violently against his.

He held at her back, but looked beyond. Lifting his hand slightly away from her dress he once again mouthed to the servant.

_Where is she?_

Like a clock's doom of pending holocaust, the servant shook his head, to the left…to the right…

_I do not know._

_Oh. _

"Arthur…what was that? What was that horrible thing? Was it some bit of sorcery?"

Not everyone knew of these physical occurrences. There was debate about what they really were, but he had tutors enough who taught him, and his servant was telling him with his eyes that this was definitely _not_ sorcery.

He shook his head, wanting to push away from her. He needed to go to his servant. They needed to search. Possibly a minute had passed. That was too much time.

"No…it's called a tremor of the earth…a quake. I don't know for _sure_ that's what it was, but…it _felt_ like what it's supposed to be."

"Arthur! Arthur!"

Across the room a king called for his son, frantic. Down the middle of his cloak was a daggerlike cut. It had _come_ from a dagger actually of decoration falling from its wall perch, that sharply enough sliced through the material before he dashed under the table. It had come _inches_ from carving at his back's body tissue.

The young crowned one lifted the hand he still had not yet, raised it past the table's edge, and cried out as the contact was brusquely made. He hadn't noticed _it_ before.

"_Ah!"_

The lady pressed against him, looked down with anxiety. "Oh you're hurt! You're bleeding Arthur!"

He lowered his eyes, saw the deep cut against his wrist. He had moved with her so fast underneath the table he hadn't even realized it. A shard of sharp stone had sliced into his skin.

The father finally reached the son now, past the moaning startled faces, past the barriers of fallen stone and ruined decor.

"Arthur…oh my son!"

The son looked to his servant with agony's decision.

_Go._

_Find her._

_Please. That's an order. Use it if you have to._

_Just…_

_Find her._

**--**

The servant read the lips perfectly, and once again making sure Gaius was okay, raced out of the room as fast as he could through all the debris that blocked the way. He felt almost the exact same need. The only difference was…

He loved her as a friend.

**--**

Their two worried faces were in his eyesight now so blindingly. All he wanted to do was take the stairs to below.

Feeling his father's arms shake though as he grabbed him, he relented for a second, whispering to his frantic wording. "I'm _fine_ Father. I'm fine."

The king hugged his son tight. This was supposed to be a joyous celebration. His boy was nothing close to a _boy_ anymore, just _this day_ at 23 years of age. They had been getting ready to enjoy the entertainment, all the glasses raised right before in toasting fashion. As his hand had ascended for a short speech, the red wine in his goblet had begun to sway. Then the roar came that no one could place.

And then…

It all _shook_.

Not just the wine, but _everything_ in the room.

"_Oh Arthur…" _

For tormenting seconds the king had feared losing his boy like he had his wife.

This was no sorcery this night though, but something not even magical thieves had control of.

The prince lowered his chin over his father's shoulder, looking down to the floor.

_Merlin…_

_Please._

**--**

The young sorcerer, two years less than the prince, got to the steps, and heard it, cries, roars of…

_Oh no. _

He knew what it was. It was the fury of flames…_fire_.

He dodged the bits of fallen stone on the stairs, gasped as one step nearly gave way under his foot.

Wrenching his fingers to the railing, he held on and jumped past the nearly fully ruined step.

Then finally on the floor's level, he entered the dark hallway.

This was where the kitchen beckoned around the corner, and as he got closer to it, the horrid began.

There were servants crying out with horrible burns, others desperately running away. As he neared, the heat became overwhelming. _He knew it._ The flames had escaped the stoves, creating a screeching fire rising to the ceiling.

Untying his scarf from his neck, he replaced it over his mouth. The smoke was _too_ much, the heat intolerable.

His prince told him to do anything…_anything_.

There was no one else around. Anyone within the room was too consumed by the flames to see. It was so fiery he could barely view if anyone was even still inside…_or alive_.

Nearly three years after the time he had first come to this kingdom he now called his second home, battling evil sorcerers and others with ill intention, learning wisdom and patience with Gaius, and just the advancement of age even with his youth still so strongly there, Merlin calmly bent back his head, closed his eyes and…

"_Flama florem es awatare flam forem et retar flewaaa flewaaa _

_Paratre ovre ovre_

_FLAMA FLOREM PARATRE OVRE_

_Es Awatare_

_AWATARE…"_

His hands steadily rose with each word, sweeping with control, taking the flames into their magical grasp.

And banishing them into cascades of falling extinguishing water.

It was one of the hardest spells he ever had to learn.

How to banish fire.

But _banish_ it now Merlin did.

The last time he had used this spell…

Was to save his prince from a _second, _once unknown, dragon's fury.

Now he would save his princess.

If Heaven was on their side.

**--**

The Lady holding at him, Lady Ysmay, informed his father about his injury.

"Arthur is hurt, Sire."

The king looked down to see the bleeding hand. "Oh yes…Gaius come here!"

Arthur negated this order right away, noticing how the physician was dealing with a lady whose leg had been crushed by a falling column. "No Father, Gaius has people with much more horrible injuries to tend to. He does not need to help me."

He had sent Merlin, but even his servant would need assistance. He could insist this now without any suspicion being raised.

"Father, the workers downstairs, the kitchen, they will need saving. We must send the knights down there. I will go with them."

The king shook his head. There were varying opinions of the man. Some saw him as just and fair. Others saw him as a cruel and cowardly man. It was for reasons like the one the father gave now that he was viewed in the latter.

"_No_…there are too many of our guests and loyal friends here hurt already. I fear many of them below have already perished. We will get new servants."

FIE on his father for thinking such a horrible thing. Why…_WHY_…did he view their lives as worth so much less? How could he be so merciless at times like this?

A voice interrupted.

"Ysmay…thank God you are alright."

"Father…"

The prince smiled with support to Lord Wykeham, but also it was quiet relief. That was _one_ person away.

"Father, we must try to help them. They are under our care. They work in this palace. Their lives are meaningful."

Since he had become Crown Prince of Camelot, _this_ belief had grown only stronger for the young man who was named Arthur Pendragon. He fully loved their kingdom and to him that love extended to _everyone_ who was a part of it. Many of their people worked so hard every day for the meager existence they lived.

"If they are trapped in the kitchen we must do what is needed to get them out.

Please Father…

We cannot let them die."

He could not let..

_Her_ Die.

The king shook his head, but the pleading was so raw in his son's eyes. The man had hair littered with dust and debris. His face was dirtied. His hand was still bleeding and yet this man, _his son_, was relentless in his pleas.

But he was injured. He needed help. "You're hurt Arthur."

The prince fought back against that by thrusting the bottom of his finely crafted cloak into his fingers, ripping it with absolutely no patience. Taking the ragged piece, he forced it against his hurt hand…_too_ strongly. There were bits of stone still wedged in that he didn't even see. _"Aw…"_ He couldn't help the cry.

FIE…_not now_.

The king saw a harried dirty servant scrambling by. He called out to the woman. "You there…I need your help!"

The woman was grateful she had not been in the kitchen, but she needed to get out of here.

"Your Majesty…"

The king spoke forcefully. "My son, the Crown Prince of Camelot is injured. You will tend to him until the court physician can."

Arthur interjected as the king began to push him down to a chair. "Father, the people below, we cannot let-

He would _never_ give it up. Sometimes deeper in his heart than his mind allowed itself to go, _the king knew_, his son would be a _better_ one. For this boy, _this man_, had so much of _Igraine_ in him. She had been a queen who never let anyone be forsaken. And yet she too had been a pillar of strength. His son resembled her so strongly, in face as much as…

_Heart. _

"I will send some of the knights and guards. They will work to get all those out who have not yet perished. Now rest Arthur."

The woman servant spoke, her voice shaking. She had strong reason she could not stay. "Your Majesty…_most honorable King Uther_…my young ones…they are alone at home. I must go check on them."

Her voice trembled with fear.

The king frowned.

Arthur watched with emotion as the women dropped down hard to her knees.

_Hard_ to her _knees_. She _hurt_ her knees bowing to a prince that she called a…

_bully. _

_Oh God…Merlin find her._

He should fight the king and yet what _could_ he do? Raise a sword to his father here after all this…_in this?_ He had to trust Merlin, continue the façade.

"You will tend to my Son first and then you may go."

"Your Majesty, please. They are only children…Sire please let me go.

_I beg you Sire!_"

The prince would have dismissed the woman already. There was no decent reason for her to stay.

"You will tend to my son. That is an ORDER."

He was just worried about him. Arthur knew that. His father lost so much sense when it came to magic and his son's welfare.

The woman got up off her knees, bowed her head low with regretful acceptance. Then she started to tend to the prince's wound.

"Arthur Dear…"

The prince felt Ysmay's kiss against his cheek. He had felt it in other places plenty of times, included in that list his lips. For of course…they were in a sort of…

Relationship.

It was rumored they were nearing…

Engagement.

So it was definitely a queer thing that the prince was thinking so hard of _another_ woman.

He looked up to her as his father moved away to speak to the knights and the guests. That was what Arthur had counted on. Now just her.

"My Lady, Ysmay, go be with your father. I will be fine. Do not worry for me. Go…Ysmay…dear." He kissed her cheek too. A quick peck of…

Little emotion.

There was more in the holding of…

_Her…_

Hand.

There _had_ been more in her tiny house that first time his lips awkwardly, and yet somehow magically, cemented to hers.

_Find her Merlin. Do what you always do._

_The impossible._

"I cannot leave you Arthur."

The golden haired lady protested strongly.

The prince shook his head, clasping at her cheek with his good hand, bringing her down for a kiss, even with the servant tending to him. He needed to be alone.

"I am fine. I will meet you in your room later. Go…your father needs you."

Ysmay bit down on her lip. "He does have a back that is weak…this could not have been good for him."

_Finally._ "Yes…I know…now be with him. We will see each other soon."

"Alright."

**--**

The flames were gone, but they had done their evil, the room now a charcoaled pit. There was soot, stains of black and damage everywhere.

Merlin carefully walked inside. The iron stoves, some of their doors were wrenched off. Shelves had fallen with the tremors. Kitchenware along with all the debris of stone littered the floor.

_Oh mercy._

He felt something soft against his foot. That was _no_ pot.

Slowly coming down to his knees, he lowered his eyes.

It was mostly burned away.

_She_ was.

Except for the familiar bandana.

It had to be.

"_Oh…_

Adelaide…

Camelot will never be the same without you."

When he had first come to the kingdom, that bustling woman had been there in the kitchen, raising her voice at so many, with a big smile telling him where most everything was, before she brushed by, no apologies as her backside hit at some.

He gently fingered the bandana, all that was humanely left, and continued. It looked like hers was _not_ the only one. Merlin felt tears fill his eyes that had nothing to do with the choking bits of leftover smoke.

_It_ pierced his eye then.

His hands shook.

Underneath a fallen shelf, the wood so charred, was the remains.

Only a pinch still of how it originally looked.

Embroidered flowers decorating a white apron.

Made to go with a certain dress.

Merlin froze.

"_No…" _

He begged.

Underneath it was a figure,

Viciously burned.

"No!

Gwen…

NO!"

**--**

They had all left him alone. The woman servant pressed too hard against his skin.

"_Ah…"_

She was working so much in a rush as all around him were the sounds of terror still and pain.

The woman, with dull green eyes, looked up to him. "Forgive me Sire."

Normally he would complain boisterously, telling the person how incompetent they were. Now he just grasped the woman's hand with his good one.

"_Go."_

One word.

She stared at him.

_He_ would never be known as a weak uncaring man…

The once and future…

_King_.

It had taken him years to grow, accepting the friendships that those in his order usually never did. But you see he was not the typical prince. He did not want _yes and no_ people around him.

He would never be the kind of king in the future who would look past the pains of his people.

"Go check on your children. Make sure they are fine. Do not stay here any longer."

As the woman opened her mouth with shock, he ordered more fiercely. His heart was too impatient.

"Go now!"

This boy that she had been in the kingdom mostly long enough to see grow, there was something so _vital_ in him, so special. She had watched him that time his father was tempted by an evil troll to take the money away from the villagers, order it be given back to them with firm command. A year ago she had seen during another horrid attack on the kingdom the prince literally carry a group of village children away from a threatening magical beast, even as his father begged him to save himself. There was so much good in this boy who so definitely now was a _man_.

She fell down to her knees, holding at his good hand gently. "Bless you Prince Arthur…_bless you!_"

He felt his heart filling with more emotion. These were his people. They mattered. "Go."

She got off her knees, rushed away.

He thrust _it_ away, the crown. Silly piece of golden tin meant _nothing_ now. He'd be equal with her.

**--**

The servant bent down to his knees. The body was small through its partial charring.

_Oh no…_

He breathed hard, trembling fingers beginning to press-

"Merlin!"

The servant turned around. She stood in the doorway, soot lining her cheeks.

"Mirabelle?"

Tears were falling from her eyes. Her auburn hair was messily out of its bandana.

"It's not her Merlin.

It's not Gwen."

He asked with shaking voice.

"_Are you sure?"_

"Yes."

That was enough. His heart _leapt_. Oh thank heaven, the old religion, all natural and mystical creation.

Carefully making his way through the damage and loss of life, Merlin moved to where the woman stood. She was a bit older than Gwen, and him too of course. Neither he nor Gwen considered her much a friend, but right now he hung on this woman's words.

"How do you know it's not her Mirabelle?"

Near fresh tears, Mirabelle answered with choking shivers. "Because she was not wearing her apron. Stella, the new girl, she had none and was frightened she would stain her dress, making her lady angry about her poor state so…Gwen…she lent her hers."

Merlin sighed painfully. The _girl_ had only started this week her service. She was barely fourteen years of age. Gwen had so kindly taken her under her watch, like Gwen was prone to do, remembering probably how she had started even younger herself.

Merlin looked back heavily. "So _that_ was Stella then?"

Mirabelle felt her composure faltering. She had never witnessed something so ghastly in all her years of working in the palace, not even anything conjured by sorcery. _"Yes…"_

She grasped at Merlin's familiar brown jacket.

"Oh Merlin, I've been so awful to Gwen! I didn't mean it…the first time she came here I tricked her into going into the prince's room. I've-

He cut her off. He knew all the stories. They were in the past. The present was more important.

"Where is she now Mirabelle?"

The auburn haired woman shook her head. "Gwen normally would take the station next to mine. As soon as the shaking…_oh the horrible shaking Merlin_…it was so awful!"

She was probably half in shock. Gently the sorcerer held at her waist.

"_I know_…I know it was terrifying. But it's over now."

He hoped at least. It was said that sometimes when one came, _others would follow_, sometimes tiny, sometimes not so much.

"Where was Gwen when it started Mirabelle?"

"Next to me. She yelled for all of us to get out and…"

The woman's sobs strengthened. "Gwen, she didn't have to. I would have been too cowardly to. She grabbed my arm, making me go with her when I couldn't move. There were those who thought it would be better to stay, but as we fled we could see it. The ovens…the fires broke out from them.

_People started to burn Merlin…screaming for God's mercy, screaming in agony…_"

It was horrible what she was telling him, but for one thing. "So…Gwen is alright? She got out, _yes?_"

Mirabelle began to cry anew.

Merlin had to fight to not shake the sobbing woman. She was upset of course, but time was _not kind_ right now. "Mirabelle…PLEASE! Where is she if she got out-

"She _did _get out, and she made me go with her down to the furthest hallway, but then she noticed that Stella hadn't followed and Adelaide and…_oh…Adelaide_ is that her over there Merlin?"

As Mirabelle noticed the badly burned body now, the sorcerer had no choice but to hold her tightly. "Yes…that's her." He stroked her hair. "_It's alright._ Just tell me what Gwen did."

It took too many long moments before Mirabelle lifted her head. "She saved me and two others…the flames were so strong Merlin. The last I saw was her returning to the kitchen to get more.

I couldn't stay. It was too fiery.

I didn't see her again Merlin.

I never saw her come out..."

Broken, Mirabelle sobbed into his jacket.

Merlin stood with hollow eyes.

This was…

hell.

**--**

It was as the _now_ not crowned one, the young man rushed to get out, that he noticed it, _her_.

She was shaking viciously in a corner.

He couldn't just leave her like that.

_Sir Hadrian never would have_.

Arthur bent down to his knees, held at the young girl's hands. She was one of their bunch of newer servants to replace some recent elderly ones. He had no idea anything personal about her.

"What is your name?"

He asked the question as he untied it.

Her tiny voice came out in unsteady vibrato. _"R-rr-Rose…S-sire."_

He nodded his head, removing _it_ from his shoulders now. Taking the cloak, his last bit of real royal insignia, he wrapped it around her trembling arms.

"Nice…here."

She didn't look like she was physically harmed. It was an emotional state. He couldn't stay and yet he couldn't leave yet with her in such a frightened condition that could actually result in physical malady, beginning shock. _"It's alright now. You're safe."_

He looked up anxiously. All around everyone was tending to an injury or a crying soul. He _had_ to go.

Finally spotting a guard walking by, he caught at the man's arm.

The guard stared for a moment with bewilderment, before realizing the dirtied disheveled man was his prince. "Sire!" He let out with respect.

Arthur shook his head. "This girl…keep her warm."

He lifted up to his feet, whispering into the guard's ear. _"She's going into shock. Stay with her."_

The guard looked like he wanted to argue the point, but he wouldn't dare do so with the prince. "Of course Sire."

The trembling fingers clenched at his hand.

As it happened the guard noticed Arthur's other hand that was noticeably still bleeding. "You're hurt Sire!"

The prince didn't care for the shards of pain. They couldn't compete with the pangs of his heart.

"I'm fine."

It was the girl's fingers on his good hand, grasping so tightly.

Sighing, Arthur moved back down to his knees. "This guard will stay with you. It's alright now. There's nothing to be frightened of."

She smiled just an inch.

It was enough.

He pushed back up to his feet, leaving the guard to tend to the girl. As quickly as he could get through the traffic of injured humans and destruction, the prince finally vacated the room.

As he did, what in medieval time was not fully understood, came it…

_The first aftershock_.

**--**

"AAAAAHHH!"

Mirabelle screamed.

Merlin held tightly to her. It lasted thankfully only a few seconds before the earth steadied fully again. It was jolting and yet not too much damaging.

At least he hoped. "It's okay…it's over. It's done."

He pulled away from her now.

Her news was unwelcome, but _not_ the final seal on any of this. Gwen still had yet to be found. He would scour that kitchen if he had to, _if her fate was the worst_, but for now, there was the chance she was somewhere on the outside, alive.

The kitchen did have a back way that some might have found the time and bravery to escape to, even as the ovens burned so threateningly.

Rapidly Merlin made his way down the opposite hallway.

Mirabelle had to run to keep up.

Meanwhile the knights that the king had sent, came to the kitchen's ghastly entrance.

**--**

He breathed shakily, but _it_ stopped before he could find a place to duck for cover. It was just one quick jolt, and then it was over. It wasn't a series like before.

Arthur rushed through the empty hallway, getting to the stairs. He started to race down them, but then screeched to a halt as he noticed that two near the end were mostly crumbed away.

It was not just the _one_ stair damaged now, but another that had ruined thoroughly with the just felt aftershock.

Arthur gripped at the marbled railing with his good hand, and leapt far.

His balance off, stone blocking the last landing, and his hand still throbbing with pain, he failed to land on his feet.

It took him longer than usual to regain his footing. It felt like his leg had some harm from that sloppy jump, but he paid it no heed.

With a slight limp now, and a hand that needed full mending, the prince hurried to the lower hallway.

**--**

Merlin reached the outside area of the castle that was at the kitchen's rear. The back door led to here. He looked around frantically at those who were crying, moaning, bellowing…

Thanks goodness these had survived and yet…

_No woman in lavender with dark wayward curls._

Where was she?

She _hadn't_ been in that kitchen. She _couldn't_ have been.

Gwen was strong.

After all, she was the woman who once dragged the prince away from one of Lord Sigan's evil creations. She knew how to fight with a sword better than Merlin did, for sure. She was the one person, maybe other than him, who could tell the prince what he needed to hear, and get the man to listen.

She came to him in the stocks that very first time, introduced herself with that friendly smile.

She was one of his _closest_ friends.

He began to question the workers.

**--**

The prince felt callous just passing by the injured people, but then he saw how the knights were there at _its_ entrance. His father had sent them. _Thank heaven._ He noticed particularly the knight who had been in service to Camelot for many years, and who this particular evening had kept his father safe. He even was one of the very few who survived the _first_ dragon's attack. He was a man of valor and dignity.

"Sir Leon!"

Arthur called out, his leg increasingly bothering him, and his hand's injury still releasing vital fluid.

The knight turned away from the kitchen's grisly and yet equally mysterious state at the sound of his name.

A man with disheveled hair, sweating forehead, a sharp limp, and a bloodied hand was hurrying to get to him. Sir Leon's eyes widened as he realized that even without the cape and crown, the man was his most noble prince.

The knight ran forward with haste to assist.

"Sire!"

Arthur felt a hand hold at his arm just as _another_ jolt hit.

**--**

The servant/sorcerer circled around another useless time before hitting the wall.

"Blasted!"

There was no visual sign, no word.

Nobody knew where she was.

Others too saw her go back in…

And then…

Nothing.

Mirabelle kept crying.

It was irritating Merlin horribly.

Gwen was nothing like that. She rarely cried much about anything.

_She_ would never give up.

He couldn't.

"_I'm going to find you Gwen. I swear it."_

Mirabelle's crying turned to a scream.

Merlin felt the second jolting aftershock as the stone underneath his feet reclaimed its violent dance.

**--**

It was another fast one.

Arthur removed his good hand from the wall as the trembling ceased.

"Prince Arthur?"

Sir Leon frowned heavily. The unsteady earth was horribly frightening, but being a knight he had faced many other awful unexplained things, like tricks of evil sorcery. His concern was mostly for his prince, who looked to be growing pale in face.

Perhaps it was all the shaking, making things in his view appear to be twofold at times. Dizzily the prince tried to focus hard on the knight, before regaining his mission in his mind.

He rushed, unsteadily.

"The kitchen. The survivors?"

Pushing back at his red toned hair, the knight followed Prince Arthur's shaky lead. "Only those who got out survived, Sire. At least it seems to be that way."

Arthur's eyes dulled to disbelief as he was fully before it now. The room was littered not with just pots, pans, dishes, cups and…

"Oh Heaven's Mercy."

But also the barely distinguishable remains of those who had not…

_Escaped_.

The knight gasped as he noticed a scarlet stream starting to flow on the floor. "Your hand…Prince Arthur!"

Sir Leon ripped at his tunic. Arthur was fearless in battle, a leader who protected all those in his stead. He was the kind of prince who fought valiantly, and now he was injured without even asking for care.

The knight gently wrapped the torn cloth around.

Arthur barely felt the caring pressure. The room was sickeningly warm. Tears threatened his eyes.

But would not _leak_.

"Prince Arthur, you must-

He looked away from it, the charcoaled pit. The fire was _gone_, extinguished fully.

"Have you seen Merlin?"

Finished wrapping the cloth around, Sir Leon shook his head, grimacing. His prince wasn't even standing straight. He needed the court physician.

"No Sire. I thought he was upstairs when all this happened. I saw him with Gaius."

The knight continued what he had wondered at since first coming to the kitchen, as the rest of the knights helped the injured up to the safer level of the banquet hall.

"It's strange."

Arthur turned, noticing how Sir Leon was entirely focused on the room now. "What is?"

"Not a single one of us put this fire out, Sire. The servants were too hurt and frightened to have done anything themselves. We've yet to find one who said they even _tried_ to end it. Those who talked about it, said the fire was up to the ceiling and that the room was torridly hot.

So how are the flames completely gone?"

Sir Leon received no answer.

His noble prince had already limped away before the question could be asked.

**--**

The servant headed across the courtyard. He had left Mirabelle with the others. They were all huddled together outside, taking comfort from the cool evening air and the closeness of each.

No one wanted to be alone.

The servant's head was lowered.

The reality was darkening grimly in his mind…

His heart.

"Merlin!"

The call came from the opposite direction. Turning around, Merlin saw...

Without any hesitation, the servant/sorcerer raced to meet him, his master, his friend, his protector, his burden…

His...

_Pratful destiny._

The man looked nothing like a prince now, sweat pouring down his face, stone dust staining his clothes and hair, and what looked like a seriously injured hand. He wore no crown and no cape.

Merlin held at his arm with care, looking down just slightly. Arthur was definitely more of brawn, but Merlin had a slight height advantage.

The years had started to form it, what the first dragon had told him would come. Yes, Arthur still had plenty of attitude, but he was a man too of such conviction, strength, pride, and humility.

He learned the _last_ from her.

Arthur was relieved to finally see him. _He_ would know.

Merlin came to him a silly idiot, and a boy who was honest to the hilt. He was _so honest_ that he even told him when he thought he was a…_prat, a royal one_.

Merlin held rarely to any kind of simple obedient _yes and no_ answers. Merlin could be stupid, _and_ brave.

"Where is she Merlin? Did you find her?"

Arthur looked down now, saw the blackened piece of material in his servant's hands.

"Merlin, _where is she?_" He demanded.

The servant's answer felt too frustrating and fragile, but it was _the truth_.

"_I don't know." _

His voice was a weakened whisper, raw from emotion.

"I couldn't find her Arthur."

The prince looked unsatisfied with that answer. "You put the fire out, didn't you? How else would there not be a single flame now? How else would you have gotten…_that?_" He pointed with a shaking finger to the charred apron.

Merlin shook his head. "It wasn't soon enough My Lord."

The prince grabbed for the material now, crushed it into trembling fingers. His other hand burned with pain. His leg was throbbing angrily at his mind's ignorance.

"_Don't_ you tell me that Merlin."

The servant felt a tear escape. He pushed it away. His prince rarely tolerated strong emotion.

"Mirabelle told me that she tried to save more.

Gwen went back in Arthur."

The Crown Prince frowned. "What do you mean she went back in? That means she got _out,_ right?"

Merlin nodded darkly. "Yes, she did get out, pulling Mirabelle and others with her. But when she noticed that Adelaide, one of the newest girls Stella, and more, were still trapped inside, she rushed back to help them."

Arthur's breath held. It sounded just like her. During the second dragon's surprise attack, he himself had pulled her away from a dangerous situation, the one with the kids in harm's way. _Yes_, he had saved those children for the most humane reason, but also because the woman who he

…

Refused to leave them.

"Mirabelle never saw her come out."

Dully, Merlin finished his explanation.

_She got out… _

_And she went back in._

The prince's heart _felt_ like a building earthquake, getting ready to rock with _violence_.

He shook his head though adamantly, stubbornly, furiously. _No._ Merlin was wrong. It wouldn't be the first time. His idiotic answer was no truth, only tied into his sometimes stupidity.

And emotional overkill. Merlin gave into it too often, and that was why he was pretty useless in battle except for one thing.

Merlin's sense on _this_ though was entirely skewed.

She was somewhere waiting to be found and they were wasting time.

_She_ kissed him, he the prince, in that tent. She pushed him against a post, pressing her luscious lips against his. She made him quake with awareness just like…

It was _another_ one of them.

It came right at this moment of questions, fear, and ominous rings of ugly fate.

_An aftershock._

Arthur didn't hold to the wall even as the servant did. He didn't move.

She kissed him in that tent to make one thing clear.

She was _it_.

She was the one woman who made his heart shudder.

_Made it bleed._

"Where is she Merlin?"

He insisted an answer, _a right one_, not this ugly inane one.

It didn't matter that Merlin was more. Arthur would have laughed it off before, any such notion of power coming from the skinny man, until _that_ event came.

A second dragon who had hid from the Dragonlords, who had been protected by one of them, came back to get its vengeance. It nearly killed the prince's father that fiery night, and then when that didn't work out it later pursued the son.

That was when Arthur learned it, away from the castle's walls, inside a dark vast cave, that his servant was not so…

_Ordinary._

And for some reason that he alone held in his soul…

He never revealed the secret.

Instead he made it an _ally_.

The most awesome thing had been to see him become…

_Mere ordinary Merlin_ fully evolve into…

The deep throated _Dragonlord_.

He was _that_ magical.

He ended the fire_, so come on now!_

He had to know where she was.

That's why he sent him…

To _save_ her.

Merlin always spoke the truth though.

"I don't know where she is Arthur."

The humble servant possessed with that dangerous magical secret, echoed his earlier answer.

The prince lifted his head.

Looked up to…

The dark night sky.

It seemed so _calm_.

Even if its ground was definitely _restless_ tonight.

A night similar to this one, he had grabbed hold of her hand, escaped with her to that spot he taught her how to swing a sword years ago when they were just tender children. Kissed her until…

He was _not_ in love with Ysmay.

He was _not_ engaged to Ysmay.

He loved only _one_.

And yet _she_…

"Where is she Merlin?"

He couldn't _stop_ asking it.

The servant said nothing this time.

Arthur viciously turned away, hurling back to the entrance, to the kitchen. His leg was so bad that once inside the hall, he stumbled across some of the fallen stone, landing hard on his knees.

Merlin gasped, ran to his prince.

Arthur's hand was wrapped in cloth, but it didn't seem to fully be stopping the thick scarlet stain. Even now as the man attempted to get up, his legs wobbled of their own shaky ground. _Yes_, they had to find her, even if it was just what was left of…_her_, but it was becoming obvious to the servant/sorcerer…

His _friend/master_ was not alright.

"Arthur?" Rarely Merlin called him _Prince_…rarely did the prince demand it. If it were possible with all the boundaries of royalty, they _could_ be called friends.

The prince ignored the physical pain, the heart's trench deeper.

He _wanted_ her.

He _loved_ her.

Nothing was easy about _this_ kind of love though that society decreed a sinful atrocity, a punishable crime. If it was found out she could be put in treacherous state. Everything was wrong about a servant being with a prince. That was why she shunned him away just a year ago. _Nothing would ever change_, she told him, no matter where their feelings turned to. He was what he was, a man who would one day become king of his people. She had her lower standing as one of those people, nothing in its label ever to allow her to be queen.

_She was servant._

_He was prince._

That was bad enough, harsh enough answer to let all this go. There was _more_ though of course. That too became fully clear just one year ago.

He only thought of _her_…

_She_ thought of…

_It didn't matter_.

He couldn't demand anything or insist. She practically pushed him into Ysmay's long thin fingers. He played the game, the façade, the illusion, the…

Trick of sorcery that mere humans could create.

It was hell to pretend.

And hell to face what was real.

The earth could shudder all it wanted.

He wouldn't stop _until…_

Arthur pushed away from his servant, got back up to his feet.

They were alone.

The knights were out of the room and most vacated from the hallway. They were taking the live servants away.

None of them saw her.

Merlin knew. He had asked _all_ before.

Arthur knew. He asked _everyone_ on his way to his servant.

Not a single breathing person had an answer to where…

She was.

He dragged her by her hand into that cove of trees and kissed her until she pushed at his chest…_that night_. She told him under a _sparkling_ moon it could never be. He was right _before_. It would _never_ be allowed.

When he became King Arthur…

She would _not_ become his queen.

She would not even be his princess.

_She rushed back in_.

No one saw her come out…_this night_.

Maybe she screamed.

Maybe she screamed for him to come.

Maybe she was silent, brave.

Merlin _never_ found her.

None of the knights saw her.

The last thing _he_ had seen was her lavender skirts brush by his eyes, _past_. She barely looked at him.

No joy for his birthday celebration because of what each _advancing_ year meant.

It was believed she never departed the kitchen.

It was believed she was…

-

-

-

"GUINEVERE!"

-

Dead.

Merlin heard the heart wrenching scream. He raced forward. Arthur always _hid_ it. So many times Merlin would catch him look at her longingly. He knew if the world could be kind, she'd already be…

_His Princess._

_His once and future Queen._

No one saw her come out. The room was a mess of charcoaled debris, and too well burnt…

Bodies.

"GUINEVERE!"

He screamed again.

All surrounding him was the torched kitchen, the lifeless cage of macabre. His fingers violently gripped the wall, whitening to the shade of mortality.

This was not happening. He didn't believe any of this ugliness. She was locked in his heart, into a place so deep it stabbed him when it had begun to position itself jarringly there.

He had to ask it again. He had to hear a better answer. He _needed_ it.

Even if he had to beg his servant, he would on his knees, down on the hard unyielding floor _on his knees_ he would weep for a kinder truth. He'd plead for mercy to open up the gates of something that was sustainable to hear.

He'd plead like a dirtied servant did to its master.

For there was no crown upon his head now, no cape wrapped around his shoulders. He was just a _man_…

Aching for the one thing that made…

His soul come to life.

Aching for…

"_Where is she Merlin?"_

He turned to his servant, his most trusted ally. He didn't care that now he wept openly.

It released Merlin's tears as painfully he touched his master's shoulder. He had nearly hated this prince at first, thought him just an obnoxious cowardly bully. It hadn't taken long though to see how much was underneath that cover, the escalating wisdom and gentle heart.

If it was possible for a servant to feel this way about his master…

He loved him now like a brother he never knew he would be surprised with, the _weirdest oddest_ kind of brother.

"I don't know my Lord.

I don't know Arthur."

The prince couldn't take it. She was _somewhere_. She had to be. This was not real. He did not scurry under a table as she bur-

'Where is she?"

His mouth wouldn't stop saying it. She had _not_ been in this deathtrap of a room while he was holding another woman's hand. She was not _something_ lying on the ground so disfigured beyond recognition. She couldn't be. She had to be alive-she had to be.

_Oh God…_

_I will never love another._

_Please._

_Call to me._

_Let me save you._

"_Where is she?"_

One final whisper.

Begging for an answer.

Begging to see her.

The air held still. No relief came.

And then a disturbance, another shaking, and with its fast tremor that merely rattled a last hanging pot to clamor to the ground, _a voice_.

One not of the servant.

Not of a knight.

Not of his father.

Not of Ysmay.

Not maybe even of pure friend.

"_She is here."_

And yet the voice was so startlingly _familiar_.

It wrenched the directions of their heads and eyes away from the kitchen.

Merlin's mouth opened wide.

The prince's eyes lifted with ironic disharmony through all the stunning of his heart.

The voice insisted strongly.

"She is hurt.

She needs help…

Now!"

It was so strange how relief could start to muddle into the muck of unhappiness at the _same_ time.

She was alive.

In the wrong arms.

The servant was supposed to get there first and pass her onto him. He protected _all_ of his kingdom and yet-

Merlin stared. She was dirtied, her whole dress was blackened. One sleeve of her dress was torn from the fire, her arm clearly burned. Her cheeks were reddened too much. Her eyes were shut. Her hair was a mess of ash.

She was _alive_ though. _He_ made sure of that.

The voice forgot protocol, coming out with urgency.

"Merlin, Arthur, she needs care!"

She was breathing, _thank heaven_ for that.

And yet-

"We must get her to Gaius now or she will…

Die."

Both of them still had yet to give any verbal response.

The prince's heart was shuddering, finding a hard time forming back together. She was not in this room, but _held_ now. She was before him, above him, _in_…

She was not a charred horrifying remain and yet-

_What was it?_

Some trick of fooling fate?

Some horrible turning of destiny that _always_ did this.

He should be happy and _yes_ somewhere his soul released its joy and _yet_ beyond, it was blackened with storms of futility.

Why was he always too late?

Why was…

"_Lancelot…"_

Merlin breathed with thankfulness and shock.

Arthur wryly laughed, tears that still stained his face from his crying of before, forgotten.

As his heart still couldn't fully form, cracks deep inside its shield.

Leaking out the blood.

Every time this happened.

Why did he always beat him?

_Why…_

She was alive and

_Yet…_

It was supposed to be _his_ arms around her now. This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to be down on his knees while another man…

_This_ man…

Oh God.

One horridness met by another that ironically took away one pain and _replaced_ it with this irritating one that couldn't even be _justified_.

It was more _selfish_, the prince fully knew, and yet he couldn't make it fully go away.

It made the guilt prick at his skin.

It wasn't supposed to be long thin fingers in his when this tempest happened…

But small thickened ones.

He should have run out of that room faster, damned his own fate.

He was too late.

_Always_ too late.

She was okay but she was not…

His.

_Never his_.

Something always made his fingers not reach.

Something made her never…

_His_.

"Lancelot."

The prince dully echoed, brusquely getting to his feet, time too unkind to wait, her recovery all that mattered now.

As hell…

smiled.

**--**

To be continued…

Feedback adored.


	3. Chapter 3

**Love's 2****nd**** Cycle:** _Bleed (Part II)_

Ah, sorry for the delay. The past 4 months have been so busy for me with my new job. It's summer vacation now though and I'm mainly just tutoring so I can concentrate on my writing a lot again. I'm almost done with the part after this and so since it's summer I should be posting that faster than I posted this one. Thank you for your patience.

Thank you so much for your feedback and for anyone who has just started reading my stories.

A few notes to those who posted feedback as my appreciation and to answer questions.

And a note on rating: I actually tried to change the rating to teen, but it wouldn't budge so I'm not sure if it will let me change the rating now. It may go up to M, but it may not. Even when I write closer to M I usually do it pretty mildly, but the third part of this story will be…well let's just say possibly a bit steamy…if I get there with my writing, lol.

This part continues to be dark since basically it's the part that 'dwells in hell'.

**Samssmiles247:** Thank you so much. I think it was easier for me to write the way I did it because I've felt a major earthquake before so I kind of know the things that go through you mind, the fears, etc. That's why I made a disaster that I could relate to…I'm glad it came off in a way that fit the tone of this part. If I had to pick my favorite to write, it's Arthur, because he's so cocky and yet at the same time he's so respectable and tied to honor. Beyond that even though, he's very sensitive and I think that third side of him comes out the most with Guinevere. Thanks so much for all your kind comments. I hope you enjoy what's to come.

**Guardian_Izz:** You will see jealous Arthur in this one definitely. Because this part is so dark it shows the most flawed side of everyone. There's a lot of pain, but also anger, and even conflicted or poor decision making. Lancelot will still be around for awhile and have a strong affect possibly even when he's not there. I have to admit. I like Lancelot on the show more than I thought I would. Arwen is endgame for me too, but this is one triangle that intrigues me. I'm not sure exactly how many smaller chapters there will be. There are three main parts. The first one had to do with friendship: pleasurable innocence. This one has to do with pain: hell. And the last, repentance: fire, which will make more sense when I post that part. Thank you so much for your feedback and great questions!

**Shadowsakura321:** lol, the reaction to Lancelot has been kind of funny for me, but I get why he was not wanted. He will be important though to the growth of the main characters. He definitely has his spot in this story like he does on the show. Still, more Arwen to come. Thank for your kind feedback!

Onto the story…

"_**Love is a friend, a fire, a hell**_

_**Where pleasure, pain and repentance dwell."**_

~**Richard Barnfield**

_**Love resides in its dwelling of hell**_

_**When consumed by jealous fearing fires**_

_**When the soul's truth is forsaken**_

_**When the heart bleeds its substance drip by…**_

_**Drip.**_

**[]**

He knew they were questioning of his presence during this tumultuous event.

Explanations would have to wait.

It ached to have her so quiet, to have found her as he had. It opened up something stronger in his heart-

For years he had forsaken his own feelings to allow another's. Something evil this night made that selflessness start to feel _less_, but even-so, _now_ was all that mattered, as he cut through their stares feverishly.

"She needs care!"

_Well that was why he was on his feet now_, Arthur thought dryly. Lancelot should have the sense to see.

He didn't exactly consider him a friend. Arthur honored Lancelot for all his swordsmanship skills for sure. The man would have been an awesome knight if it wasn't for that little matter of having the wrong kind of blood, a minimal matter actually to the prince.

What happened later took more substance…

_They_ connected, twice, beyond anything the prince could understand or be a part of.

Surely Lancelot wasn't foe, but he was the division, the separator.

Merlin observed the tense interactions between the men.

_She_ was special enough to cause that kind of conflict.

The servant was just thankful. Lancelot was a surprise indeed, but she was _alive_ because of him.

The prince's contradicting feelings accumulated the same. She needed help.

For a second Arthur rested his eyes on hers, closed and marred by a smoke mottled face. Past those full cheeks, was an arm with sleeve burned half away.

It didn't matter who held her. That arm was all that mattered, fixing it, _mending her_.

"Arthur-

The prince interrupted Lancelot with a firmly raised hand.

"Come on. We'll get her to Gaius."

His leg unhappily reminded him that it needed rest, but Arthur paid it and his injured hand no heed.

Leading the path down the hall, past the kitchen's scene of macabre, he turned to the beginning steps, finding an unwelcome surprise.

It seemed the last bits of shaking had caused even more damage to the already quake affected staircase.

The three of them froze, assessing their issue.

Arthur had his answer almost immediately.

Looking away from it, taking her in for a greedy second, he shivered.

All those gorgeous curls of hair now unkindly littered with gray ash.

How many times had his fingers wandered into those untamed ringlets?

Not enough.

Not the _last_.

"Merlin."

_He would get it. _

The prince prided himself on being no slacker in the physical department, but his muscles and brawn could not help with this, not quickly enough anyway.

Lancelot watched the interaction with curiosity. He couldn't know…_could he?_

Merlin nodded his head, prepping before he was even commanded what was needed, what his prince expected. It was _rare_ although. Arthur still was not entirely comfortable with sorcery because of his father's strong anti feelings about it.

Merlin the servant closed his eyes and became _Merlin the Sorcerer_ now. It was where he felt mightiest, strongest, not bumbling and awkward. It was his gift, handed down from his father.

He had to concentrate hard, yet this bit of incantation he did with inward whispers instead of solid voice. He was learning how to do more with his mind, as too he was better able to control his sorcery now.

As Merlin circled his hand outward, causing a wind all around them that ruffled the prince's fine colored hair and his own darker shade, Lancelot marveled with widened eyes. He _did_ know.

How? When?

Arthur watched impatiently, even with the sight being awesome. _She_ was too quiet. If only her eyes would open enchantingly like they had after their first shared kiss in her tiny home. If only her precious voice would interrupt Merlin's borrowing of the elements.

Lancelot watched with wonder as the crumbled stone started to form a grouping of harshly made steps, Merlin's technique obviously gaining perfections.

Eyes closed, Merlin could _feel_ it happening. It wasn't perfect. His mind was too troubled this night, but _they_ were forming a way to pass.

In seconds it was done. His father taught him that sorcery was evil, ill intended. Arthur sometimes questioned those beliefs though, even more-so recently. They were too tied into emotion, causing his father to lose sense.

Feeling that it was done to enough completion, Merlin opened his eyes with a half wearied sigh. Their way now was clear.

Lancelot stared. Arthur could _feel_ it. Edginess filled the prince's resulting frown. The sarcasm whipped out.

"Hurry up Lancelot! Like you said, she needs tending to!

Or maybe _I'm_ the one who should hold her if you can't manage it."

It was dry, what he said in final. Sure it wasn't cordial or knightly, and yes Lancelot had reason to look so amazed since he never had been told that Arthur had learned Merlin's secret, but none of that mattered now.

The sting was there. Merlin watched it affect Lancelot for a mere second before the dark haired man started rushing up the steps with Gwen carefully in his hold, the prince in the lead.

Merlin followed.

At the last step, the most rushed to be formed, and so not all that well sculpted, Arthur slipped. His knee screamed at him _enough_.

Lancelot lifted his hand past Gwen's backside to assist, grasping at the man's arm, having noticed his slight limp before.

Arthur quickly straightened enough on his own, shrugging the help away.

Lancelot started to move past him.

Merlin moved closer to the prince, asking, _"Is your leg bothering you more?"_

Arthur ignored the question, coming behind a directionless Lancelot. Impatiently the prince pushed past, having been raised in the palace since birth to know its halls intimately.

Heading to the right, he was reminded of a girl confusedly mistaking his room for that of a guest's. She had dropped his boar's head on the floor, angering him…later…amusing him.

Swallowing at his anxiety, Arthur let the memory go. He had to find Gaius.

A voice interrupted as he was one room away.

"Arthur!"

The prince halted, tightly grimacing. _All_ obeyed the king, even his son. Behind him Merlin and Lancelot had no choice but to do the same.

The king was tightly frowning, Merlin saw, clothing stained by all the debris and yet he wore his crown and cape. Arthur had none of it on, that he much more closely resembled a commoner, especially with all his injuries.

The king looked past the servant and oddly appearing figure holding the woman, noticing something else vividly. His son's hand was wrapped, yet not well enough to cease its bleeding against the cloth, and it seemed he even was limping now.

"Arthur, where have you been? One of the guards said you rushed out of here. I hope it wasn't to go downstairs to the kitchen. I told you that I would send the knights. Some of them have already returned, while others I've heard have been hindered by damage to the staircase.

_Not a problem anymore_, Merlin thought dryly.

"Anyway, you needn't concern yourself with it." The king pressed his hand against his son's gently.

Arthur winced at the dulled pain. Even with Sir Leon's earlier wrapping, the injury was prevalent, tiny particles of stone yet to be removed from his cut skin.

"_Aw…"_

Merlin watched with concern, before noticing Lancelot bouncing from foot to foot anxiously. Arthur was hurt, but Gwen's injuries were worse.

The king quickly lifted his hand away with disgust. "This is intolerable. That servant woman did a horrible job of assisting you. Where is-

Arthur cut through rapidly. The _princess_ he wished he could call his without all this _façade_ needed to be healed.

"She's gone."

"Gone?

Well then she will have a night in the dungeons to look forward to!"

Lancelot's expression was frantic. Merlin was fidgeting heavily. She had yet to open those midnight eyes.

"I _told_ her to go."

The king stared at his son with bewilderment. _"Why?"_

Time was flowing too freely.

"Because she had children alone at home, Father. Of course she had to see to their welfare. Now where is Gaius?"

Uther couldn't understand it. His son's condition was horrible. He never should have let that servant woman go. Her children could have waited a little longer. Servants were _expected_ to tend to nobility.

His son was a fierce fighter, but too soft about these things.

At least he had made one good mention though. "He is in the adjoining hall that is temporarily being used for the injured."

As Arthur nodded his head, the king called out. A guard stopped in front of them, ready to do the king's bidding. "Get Gaius. He must tend to my son…now."

Lancelot let out an exasperated sigh.

Merlin frowned.

Arthur shook his head strongly.

"No Father. Whatever has happened to me can wait. It is _her_ he needs to tend to."

Now Uther finally acknowledged the presence of the other.

Two men had followed his son into the stone debris littered room, the bumbling servant of course who at least was loyal, and queerly enough, the man who had been a Knight of Camelot for no longer than a day before _it_ was found out. He was a simple commoner with not an ounce of noble blood, unsuited for knighthood. In his arms too strangely enough was a woman, but taking her in with just a fraction's glance the king could easily see that she was not much more herself, _simply a servant_, even if she seemed familiar.

"Lancelot, you have some audacity to come back here without invitation."

Lancelot frowned. Normally he would fall to his knee at the king's presence, but he could not do so with her in his arms, and she mattered more than protocol. Hopefully Arthur saw that too. _So much time was being wasted!_ All he could say was a quick word. "Sire."

Merlin wished he could send a trickle of magic that halted all this delay. To him this was the ridiculous side of royalty.

And to Arthur too.

"Father, there's no time for that now. We need to get her to Gaius."

The king quickly dismissed that. Yes it was unfortunate that the woman was injured, but with nobles hurt too, _the help_ would have to wait.

"She's merely a servant woman, Arthur. Gaius has many others to deal with who matter more."

The protest was there in his son's strong blue eyes so the king put up his hand quickly. "I know you don't like it, but one day when you are king you will understand."

_No._

He would _never_ understand such merciless thinking. He could never be that kind of king, even if it made him weak.

She once told him that he was not _that_, a feeble prince, but a kind caring one, and that she hoped he'd never change. This was his duty to help her, and his soul's cry.

It was so _frustrating_. His father would never see it the same.

Maybe if he approached it _another_ way.

Merlin stood by helplessly, thinking perhaps they should just rush past the king. Damn the consequences. Fisting his hands with impatience, it was moments like this the servant felt the most treasonous. The king had some factor in him that was just so…ugly. He'd watched him sentence so many to death for simply being born with what should be a gift, not a curse.

"She is Guinevere, Father, Morgana's handmaiden."

Yes, it had been a couple of years now since Morgana's disappearance and the rumor that Morgause had somehow kept her alive. The rumor that the king's ward had no intention of ever returning, that she might even despise the king. It was whispered secrets that may come to fruition, may not, and yet the mention of her name the prince used now for _one_ reason. It stirred his father's sentimentality.

If he could just get to that fragile side of the man, maybe he could make him soften enough to understand why Guinevere's injuries had to be attended to with haste.

Or maybe he was just being as delusional as his servant could be.

Regardless, Arthur knew time was passing by too quickly, leading him to defiant thinking.

"You know that Morgana would want her cared for."

Merlin could tell what the prince was doing, and yet it was a dangerous game. If his father ever found out that Arthur desired _a servant girl_, the repercussions for Gwen could be tumultuous. That had to be why Arthur seemed to be playing it so coolly, keeping his voice detached, focusing deeper on Morgana.

Uther reacted to the mention of his disappeared ward with a touch of emotion, before he remarked dryly. His son honestly could not care about _this_ woman. It was just his weak side.

He worried about it sometimes actually, how it would affect his son the day he had no choice but to _become_ king. He saw in the future his son perfecting his position to heights that couldn't even be imagined now, but he feared those first years might be hard ones since Arthur cared so much.

He'd learn his lessons soon enough.

"Well Morgana is no longer here, so no need to mention that. You know what she means to me Arthur. You shouldn't mention her so _lightly_. As for this servant woman, if she does not make it, we will simply have to get another."

Merlin was furious, but the prince's eyes were _blazing_. He put his hand on the man's shoulder, knowing that if Arthur heated up with that sometimes volatile temper of his, _too much_ would have to be explained.

Shaking his head, the servant grew resolute. He couldn't stop this altercation, but he could _interrupt_ it.

Lancelot shook his head with disbelief. Something was so hard in Arthur's father, so _blind_.

As the servant slipped away, another unwelcomed call came.

"_Arthur_…there you are!"

The prince turned to Lancelot, seeing the frustration in the man's face. _This_ was why he had not gotten down there in enough time to save her. This was why she had been down below working in a torridly hot room while he had been celebrating with the woman who called on him now, dining on goose and wine. This was why she was never…

His.

He wanted to scream it out who he really loved, and yet how could he? He wanted to rush past his father, grab her away from Lancelot and bellow for the physician, but if he did, not only would he cause trouble for himself, but more importantly, for her. He'd sentence her to the dungeons…

Maybe to death.

And yet she could die _now_ in all this wasted time.

The darting of Lancelot's eyes was so true. He had to say it, even if his father found out. Arthur knew he had to save the woman he loved, even as _the other_ touched at his hand now.

The touch was not enough, not _her_ touch.

The prince opened his mouth,

"_Father-_

"I got Gaius!"

Merlin ran back into the room, pulling the old man with him.

Lancelot had been watching the golden haired woman touching at the prince's hand with affection. He had seen her just a year before, also then seeming kind of…affectionate.

He looked past now though, as thankfully his friend returned with the physician.

Gaius stared at Lancelot for only a second, his practical doctoring mind taking over. He ushered the orders. Yes there were others in the hall, but her shape was bad and…_oh blessed it was Gwen_. That was enough.

Arthur swallowed with relief.

_Thank God Merlin you used your sense._

Noticing his father's questioning, he gave her a dismissive glance, _his Guinevere_, and kissed the other woman, the Lady Ysmay. Played the façade. Continued it even as it bled his heart out. Whatever he had to do to keep her safe, keep her alive.

_Forgive me._

Only Merlin could see clearly the battle inside the man's soul. He knew enough of its hints, he had heard his own prince's words enough, to know that this all _killed_ the man to do. And yet it was the only way.

Lancelot followed Gaius hurriedly as the king was distracted with the Lord Wykeham, who had followed his daughter into the room.

The king was satisfied that his son now seemed less caring. Sure the injured woman was the one Morgana had handpicked, and if the king be acknowledging enough, she was definitely one of Camelot's finest, but servants could be replaced if need be. Call that harsh, but it was the way a kingdom had to be run, with objectiveness.

The prince kissed her lips, Ysmay's. They were cold, too cold.

Since finding _her_ he had not even been allowed to touch. Maybe that why his fingers ached so hard.

Ysmay was complaining about his still bleeding hand, calling her own personal handmaiden over to finally mend it fully. Arthur paid little heed, telling her to wait just a moment. Merlin was leaving the room.

He couldn't before-

"_Merlin…"_

Arthur whispered.

Merlin faced his master, not needing any further words to understand. "_I'll make sure she's okay."_

Arthur slowly nodded his head, painfully biting down on his tongue that wanted to unleash the truth, tasting the salty blood from its force.

"_Do that. And…come to me with any news. _

_She must live…_

_Merlin."_

If a noble prince could beg, he was now, the tremor rising through the words. Merlin felt the emotion hit him hard. It reminded him too much of his last goodbye to Freya. That would not happen here though. Gwen had been rescued and…

She would live.

She had to.

"_She will."_

"Arthur…

_Dear_…"

The prince closed his eyes painfully at the woman's reminder that she was there, his somewhat intended, his _relationship_.

Hell was too unkind, forcing this illusion. It didn't care that it broke the body into pieces.

It hurt too much to pretend.

It ached to not press his lips to her…

Warm ones.

_Live Guinevere._

_Please._

Merlin turned away, leaving the prince to play the tormenting game.

As the earth tremored unhappily.

Another aftershock.

That made those all around him scream, scramble, run.

As the prince stood as still as a statue.

Cold.

Alone.

Numb.

**[]**

Hours later, he stood at his window, facing the now oddly quiet land, darkness shadowing the night, his hand mended fully, his leg still unhappy at his not resting state, but his mind was more wearied than the physical anyway.

"Arthur."

The prince didn't even bother to turn around, the voice familiar enough.

"Tell me."

Merlin shook his head with uncertainty, his eyes wearied. It had been a long day already of planning for the event. Now with the quake and the echoing aftershocks, and of course her injuries, it was even more restless.

"She hasn't woken. Gaius did all he could, but he said that she's suffered a lot, took in a lot of smoke, and her burns too of course. We need to wait out the night."

The prince dully nodded his head, eyes heavily focused on the sky, the courtyard below.

That night that the second dragon had come, a group of children had been in the town square doing a last rehearsal for the upcoming celebration of the New Year to come. They were inside a little makeshift tent set up just for them.

She had rushed past him and the other knights, after the woman teaching them had stepped out of the tent for only a second to succumb to the dragon's smoldering breath.

The beast just feet away, diving from the sky, kept opening its mouth to let out new blazes of fire.

And _she_ still ran to them.

Making him call out to her with alarm.

Making him wonder how she could be so brave…

And foolish.

"_Guinevere? _

_BLOODY HELL!"_

_Arthur ran past his knights, who had shields raised to do more battle, noticing the fiery direction she was determinedly heading to._

"_GUINEVERE…"_

_She turned around at that ferocious call, allowing him the time to catch at her arms._

"_Are you mad? _

_This is no place for you to be right now!"_

_Anxiously she reacted._

"_Arthur…Sire…"_

_Remembering for a second of course that protocol, even as the wind whipped the flames around terrifyingly._

"_There are children in the tent!"_

_He stared at her with alarm. "No, there can't be."_

_She frantically shook her head. "The woman teaching them, no one's seen sight of her, nor the children. They must still be in there."_

_He darted his eyes away from her for a second, hearing an anguished youthful cry. _

_Oh God, they really were in there, just moments ago practicing excitedly for their show. Now they could burn to death in this fiery trap. _

_Shaking his head, he saw how his knights couldn't be of assistance. They were dealing with enough, the dragon diving down on them now. _

_Maybe though if the beast was distracted long enough…_

_He could do it by himself?_

_He'd have to. _

"_Stay here. I'll get them."_

"_You can't do it alone! What if something's happened to their teacher? There are too many children. I'll go with you."_

_Where was Merlin? Oh that was right…probably cowering in fear, while this wild beautiful woman wanted to assist. _

_Arthur firmly shook his head. "No. It's too dangerous. You stay here…better yet. Get inside. That's an order!"_

_He ran away from her, hearing his father's cries from the window above, yelling at him to retreat. Arthur paid it no heed as he rushed across the hot spotted courtyard, dashes of firing blazes interrupting his progress._

_And heard it._

_A second pair of footsteps._

_Getting to the tent finally, he whipped around to bellow. "I told you to stay!"_

"_And you too easily forgot I am not your servant!" More practically, she whispered plainly. "Two of us will get them out faster."_

_He shook his head with disbelief, grabbing at her roughened hand, marked by a servant's duty, and yet still there was a certain softness about it. "I don't know whether to think you courageous or just foolish."_

"_No more foolish than you."_

_He smiled wryly at that, before pushing through the tent's opening, seeing the group of them huddled, and like she worried, no teacher in sight. _

_He felt it as Guinevere pushed past, familiar with all the children, her smile warm and encouraging, even through all the turmoil. She was brave to the fiery finish, a woman who made him marvel, who was like no other._

"_It's alright. Come now! We must hurry."_

_She coaxed so gently, courageously, but Arthur reacted as a roar came. The children cried out with fear. _

_IT was getting closer, no longer distracted it seemed. _

"_Come on!" _

_He called out with less patience. Guinevere had a hold of some of their hands. He ushered the group out of the tent. _

_Outside again it could be seen coming to sweep down, its heavy wings flapping hard enough to cause a brutal wind, before it opened its mouth, ready to light them all into screeching cinders._

_Arthur gasped, eyes widened to the horror, and looking down noticed it now, the ashen remains. It had to be. That was why the children had been alone. HORRID beast. He stepped forward, blocking the view. They were too innocent to see._

_Then he warned furiously, lifting his sword for battle, even if it most likely would be useless against the hot flame. _

_At least if IT pursued him, they would all have the chance to get away._

"_RUN! RUN FOR THE PALACE!" _

_Guinevere turned back to him, her midnight eyes filled with terror._

_Arthur shook his head, frantically gesturing her away._

_Her lips half parted, but she turned to flee before anything could be said, ran with the children away from it…_

_Away from him._

_All the children raced. Then the horrible happened. One of them slipped. The dragon sneered, turning away from the prince. _

_A new toy to play with. _

_Arthur stared. Merciful Heaven. Behind him the tent they had fled, was just beginning to smolder, the dragon leaving its mark._

_Guinevere screamed in reaction to the fallen child. _

"_OH!"_

_She looked like she was ready to turn back._

_He shook his head frantically, waving with his arm. _

"_KEEP GOING! DON'T STOP!"_

_She halted though for a second, her expression heavy. He knew why. _

_Still he commanded her on, begging that she'd use sense and listen. _

"_GO GUINEVERE…GET THEM INSIDE!"_

_Her face was ravaged with pain, but she turned away, did as he uttered…_

_Arthur nodded his head with grim satisfaction as they hurried, leaving him. Good._

_Now he had a choice._

_He could save himself or…_

_Oh Heaven's Mercy._

_The child was maybe four years old or less._

_If he saved himself, the dragon would win its target._

_A babe of Camelot…_

_DAMN his own life._

_Letting the sword fall to the ground…_

_Arthur sprinted across the cobblestone, ignoring the dragon's torridly vicious shots of fire that tried to burn his racing feet. _

_Getting to the child, he kneeled down only long enough to sweep the girl up against his side. Holding her tight, he ran faster than he ever had in his life, half aware that the tickling flames were shooting up his boots. _

_Setting the frightened child down as he got close enough, he ordered her with as much gentleness as he could, following Guinevere's lead of before in how he spoke. "Go…run…all the way to the door…right there in front of you. _

_See? _

_Go! _

_Go now!"_

_The dragon wanted HIM. He could feel it. _

_The beast had some kind of vengeance against him, maybe because he was his father's son. Who knew? That was why he set the child down. Then the girl would be safe._

_Maybe he would die in a sacrifice for her…like Sir Hadrian did for that other…_

_Little girl._

_Maybe that was his destiny. _

_So be it. _

"_ARTHUR!"_

_He heard the voice, saw the running man. _

_Maybe his servant wasn't as cowardly as he thought. _

_Merlin distracted from the other side, waving a stick to get the dragon's attention. It turned with a roar._

"_Go Arthur!_

_Save yourself!"_

_The prince ran, but making a spinning turn that surprised the dragon and Merlin _

_He grabbed his thin servant._

"_Save YOURSELF you brave idiot Merlin…_

_COME ON!" _

_It was a stupid thing to do, taunting a dragon with a stick like Merlin just had, but also boldly valiant._

"_I'm not forgetting that…_

_You called me BRAVE!"_

"_Shut up! _

_I also called you an idiot!" _

_It had been just enough time to get them both past, Merlin's wild distraction, but the dragon was hotly on their trail again, prepping one last flaming sweep._

_Arthur pushed his servant down to the ground with desperation, hoping they'd be out of its line of fire, falling forward too. _

_And felt it as he did. From the doorway a pair of hands pulled before the circling magical beast could turn them into human torches. _

_More than one pair actually, assisting them both._

_One from a set of small, roughened, and yet oddly soft hands._

_Hands so familiar…_

_Warm._

_He was brought to lay on his back, safely inside, but something so torridly hot against his boots. A blanket flew above him, hit strongly against the leather, to put out the sparks of fire that had risen against them while he ran across the courtyard. _

_Soon enough they finished their task, fully extinguishing what could have burned his skin if not attended to so diligently. _

_His eyes focused above, took in the wildly untamed curls framing her beautiful midnight eyes._

_He laughed with disbelief, with gratitude, before uttering dryly._

"_It's the second. You're foolish."_

_She smiled, a tear escaping her eye. "You saved them all Arthur."_

_His blue eyes widened at that. "Even the last…the young girl?"_

_She nodded her head, gesturing beyond to the child who was being held by her mother. "Even her…see? As brave as Sir Hadrian."_

_He felt gratitude fill his heart. Any loss in Camelot pierced his soul. _

_He marveled…she remembered._

_He didn't agree with her assessment though entirely. "No…I didn't do it alone. WE did."_

_Slowly, wearied from all that had happened, he lifted the fallen blanket away from his leg, covered them with its not burnt side, pressed his lips hard against hers. _

_He stopped her mutterings of protest, whispering in between, in the darkness of the blanket's covertness "If anything had happened to you…"_

_Roughly his fingers pressed against her full cheeks. _

_As gently his lips sought more…_

It had only lasted a few more seconds before the king's bellow came, and then he had to lift away the shielding blanket, act like he had never been at her side. Pretend she was little more than just an ordinary servant.

Not the woman he so feverishly desired.

Who he would save in a heartbeat.

_Who he…_

_That_ was a year ago, before Lancelot returned the second time, before Arthur and Merlin ventured away from Camelot to stop the dragon. Before he learned his servant's secret.

And learned _their_ connection had only grown stronger.

_Lancelot…_

"So has he told you why he's here? Why he's returned, this particular night of all others?"

Merlin wondered where it seemed the prince's mind had drifted off to just now, before answering.

"Actually he hasn't been that far. He's been living in the nearby kingdom of Pythagora for almost a year now, as attendant to one of the nobles, keeping in good shape the swords and such. It's not what he aspires to do, but he says at least he gets to work with the arsenal."

Arthur smiled ironically. Of course he hadn't _totally_ left, was still close by.

"But why did he return…_here_…tonight?"

Merlin shook his head, as the prince still didn't face him.

"Not sure entirely. He gave no answer to that."

The prince swallowed, his eyes not leaving the star filled skies.

Such a beautiful night on such a violent earth.

"So is he with her now?"

That was the hardest question to ask, the most prickling one, pinching at his skin with no remorse.

"He was when I came to see you. He…"

Merlin stopped. Perhaps with the way things were it was best he not say it all, let this go.

The prince impatiently believed another answer though.

"He…_what?_ Don't stutter Merlin! Finish what you started."

It was a fierce snapping order. Merlin knew he couldn't leave it there, and so why even try?

Maybe he was the sorcerer, but this was the _prince_. Even knowing his secret, Arthur still treated him sometimes like a bumbling _idiot_, and he in return called him a royal _prat_. Now was not time though for their sillier sides. Now what was needed was truth.

"He hasn't left her side once."

Pour that oil into the wound. Let it _slither_ in until you scream from the infliction.

Arthur lowered his head, guiltily, angrily.

"I wanted to reach her…_wanted to reach her first_."

Merlin responded solemnly. It was moments like this he realized the burden Arthur carried as _Crowned Prince of Camelot_. It was not just an easily luxurious task, but a weight that bruised his shoulders.

"I know."

Arthur held tight, fisting his hands against the window with flaming frustration. Sometimes he wished to not be Arthur _Pendragon_, to not have any last name of significance, to be as ordinary as his servant, to be able to…

Love her.

He lowered his head more, curled his back.

Merlin watched from behind, taking a step forward, noticing how his prince's eyes were tightly closed.

"Arthur."

The prince complained with a snarl, only halfheartedly.

"You're the worst servant ever, Merlin. Always forgetting who I am and how you should be addressing me."

"Go see her. Let her know you care."

Arthur swallowed, the lump in his throat too coarse now, too thick that it made him feel he'd choke. His hand throbbed with renewed pain. His knee edged with irritation. His heart…

"She already has someone to let her know that."

"One more won't hurt. She needs all our voices. She's yet to hear yours."

Merlin stepped in more, stopped at the man's hunched side, and touched his shoulder.

"Go see her Arthur…ahhh…_Sire_, better?"

He half joked, smiled with support.

When the dragon in that cave had knocked his master down, and opened its mouth to let it out, Merlin had taken his chance. In one second his destiny would have died if he hadn't.

Only later he would find out that the knock-out was not as jarring as he thought.

That soon enough his prince had opened his eyes.

And witnessed it.

Witnessed what Merlin _really_ was.

And yet still the prince had said nothing to his father.

_Two sides of the same coin_.

Merlin was starting to understand that now.

Arthur lifted his head, weakly smiled at the lame joke. "You're pathetic."

"That's mean. You're tactless…

_Sire_."

Arthur laughed dryly, slapped at the younger man's shoulder, before his expression grew pained again. "It should have been me."

Merlin shook his head with resolution.

"At least it was _someone_."

Seeing the prince nod his head, feeling the hand leave his shoulder, Merlin left the room.

Arthur returned his focus out the window, recalling warm lips…

Under a hastily lifted blanket.

To envelope them in privacy.

**[]**

Hours later, what is known in modern time to be 2:47 in the morning, a man in simple white tunic undershirt and black pants, boots removed, hand bandaged, entered the healing hall. Around him except for some painful moans, all were sleeping. At the furthest corner was a door. He walked to it.

Trying to make the creaking sound not so prevalent, he slipped it open, and looking forward, saw it, her, lying on a bedded cot.

At her side was he, but at least the man was slumbering now.

Quietly he made his way to the opposite end.

_The other man _slept at her right side.

The prince moved to her left, half kneeling on the floor, no chair to sit upon.

Seeing one of them straying apart, he lifted his fingers to brush away gently the falling curl. That one arm was wrapped entirely. Her dress under the blanket was a simpler almost white one. Her bared face and hands revealed more burns he hadn't noticed before, but at least they were mild.

The awful was her stillness.

It contradicted with his inability since the earth's first tremors to remain still, her so quiet slumber now, jarring with his failure to close his eyes.

Maybe that was because he had needed this. To see her. With no one watching.

No one hearing.

Perhaps that was like how it had been when he was ill and she tended to his fever years ago, the first time in so many years he noticed something so spectacularly interesting about her, and something even greater beyond. Even in his fitful sleep he had heard her say good things about the king he'd be. He had felt her stroke his forehead.

In this room _now_ there was a pot of water nearby, a cloth aside it. He lowered it into the water, tenderly lifted it against her shadowed head, too spoilt this night by smoke and…what must have been those awful kitchen flames. Gently he stroked, just like she had.

Parting his lips, he whispered.

"_You've yet to tell me exactly what you said that night/day, whenever it was you sat with me. Will you ever? Or will I just have to keep thinking what my feverish mind told me, what my senses remembered feeling?"_

No kind answer.

No reaction.

Arthur sighed heavily, lowered the cloth against her neck.

"_There was another time too, when all that wildness happened with the…Lady Vivian. Do you recall that? You kissed me, you told me to live for you. _

_But will you…_

_Live for me?"_

No silken voice.

No midnight shining eyes.

His throat felt raw, as he lifted the cloth again to wipe at her cheeks, a bit of soot still there on one.

"_Or are you mad at me…_

_For not saving you first?"_

His vocal cords trembled.

The night so still it revealed all his frailty.

"_You pushed me in the direction. But you know I hate it._

_You know I love no other._

_You know I never will._

_You know you own…_

_My heart Guinevere."_

As his fingers reached out to touch hers, no movement of reaction came.

Not even a murmur.

His hurt hand burned.

Maybe like the fire she had suffered in.

Maybe this was how she had felt.

Like the flames were dancing her straight into…

hell.

"_Don't leave me._

_Come on…_

_Wake up._

_Everything will change._

_You and I…"_

_What lie are you going to tell her_, the pits of love's new hostile dwelling asked.

He closed his eyes, feeling the wetness scarring at his lids.

It can _never_ be. She told him.

As he pressed her into that cove of trees. Insisting they'd figure it out.

She negated him.

She remembered too much another.

Who sat too close now.

Who he wanted to hate and yet that was too easy, too selfish.

After all that man was the reason she was not…

Had not been…

His head lowered.

To her breast.

To feel the pangs of life from her heart.

To let his own bleed.

"_Just live._

_That's all I ask._

_Live Guinevere._

_Live for me._

_Live knowing you are…_

_Loved…_

_By me."_

His lips pressed down on hers, trembling with need…

Stabbing ache.

Before he limped away.

A hurt leg not the only reason…

For his uneven walk.

Tears finally released.

And yet how they _BURNED_ his skin…

Like evil fire.

One person wakened in the room before the prince left, watched with wonder.

Hearing half of what was said.

Before their eyes closed heavily again.

Heavy with burden.

As purgatory hissed to never reveal it.

_Keep it a cruel secret_.

**[]**

Merlin rushed out of the room half past the next day. The prince had temporarily relieved him of his duties, which wasn't as unusual at it may seem.

Sure, Arthur regularly kept him busy with the cleaning of his armor among other things, but nowhere near how much it had been during Merlin's first days of service. Morgana would marvel that the prince could even pick out his own clothes by himself now.

Moving all the way to the far staircase, the one less damaged, Merlin carefully headed up, nodding cordially at the toiling castle workers. All around the palace were crews busily hammering, repairing and sweeping to return the castle to at least some of its previous glory. Some tasks would not take much time, while it was obvious others would need months to finish.

Reaching the top step, Merlin walked across the still partially littered floor to the window. The frame of one was noticeably missing.

Perusing the facing courtyard and fields of practice, Merlin predictably spotted him along with a group of knights overseeing the work on the drawbridge, assisting when needed. The bridge was nowhere near fully ruined, but some of its planks needed full replacement or fixture.

Even from the distance, Merlin could take in the man's hard focused look. It rarely was not there, even now as the still prevalent limp hindered some of his movement. Along with that wrapped hand most men would be resting, expecting to be waited on hand and foot,

But not Prince Arthur Pendragon of course.

He was known to demand a lot, training potential knights to brutal extension, but at the same time he gave no less of himself, a prince by all standards, including ominous duty.

He wasn't just a…_prat_.

Merlin headed back down the steps as quickly as he could. In his mind played back the event that could have changed everything, did alter some actually, and yet helped on the other side.

Finally a secret didn't have to be held anymore…his hardest one to keep.

"_ARTHUR!" _

_Merlin screamed as the unpredictable dragon whipped its long spiked tail around from behind._

_Not even the links of chainmail and steel plated armor could protect the prince from the violent blow. _

_As soon as the contact was made, he flopped without control like a rag doll. Then with a gurgling splash, he landed in the shallow cavern pool, half of his body hitting on its stoned edge with a dull thud. _

_A second after, eerily his hand popped up from the sheer force of the fall, before it sunk down underneath the waters. _

_With the prince's eyes closed, his head lulled to the side, Merlin wondered horrifically if he even still breathed._

_He had to be alive…HAD to be._

_Jumping off the bank that Arthur had protectively pushed him up against when the battle started, sans any knights because half were in another part of the cave, the other dead after the dragon's surprise attack in an area where they hadn't expected to find the beast, Merlin berated himself for not interfering sooner. If he had though, surely the prince would have found out his secret._

_And yet what did that matter now?_

_Circling around to the shallow pool, the servant bent to his knees, reaching out his hand. At least his back and head had submerged into the water, instead of smacking against the unyielding stone, but he needed to check for a pulse. _

_Shakily Merlin sought for one, finding a shallow beat. Thankfully. Now just how badly was he injured?_

_He wasn't allowed the time to find out because the dragon was definitely not done. Reminding Merlin fiercely that it was still there, it roared with ferocity. _

_A magical foreboding creature of stark black and red markings that fiercely lined its scaled skin, spears of thorned edges along its head, it was more powerful and bigger in size than the dragon Kilgharrah that Uther had chained in eternal punishment._

_And yet just like Kilgharrah, maybe more-so, this dragon hated the king, for a reason that Merlin had yet to fully understand, other than the usual. _

_Of course, excluding Kilgharrah, King Uther had purged every dragon from the land…_

_Or so the king had thought. _

_Perhaps he should have realized that such vengeances would have their price, would accumulate…_

_Enemies._

_Such as one mysterious Dragonlord who had secretly spared the dragon who had just possibly severely injured the king's son, maybe fatally. _

_The man had even allowed his own life's sacrifice so the dragon could later come back to get the final come-uppance for all magical beings. _

_The plot…_

_Purge the land of the king they loathed._

_When that hadn't worked to satisfaction, the king protected by his knights and son of course, the dragon retreated to the cave, to allow the prince's discovery. If it couldn't get the king, why not take what the king loved most…_

_His son._

_His heir._

_Of course the dragon hadn't counted seriously enough on Merlin's interference._

_As the beast opened its mouth beyond the initial roar now, Merlin realized with terror what it would do next._

_He couldn't allow this. The prince was unconscious anyway, and he had waited long enough already. _

"_NO!"_

_Merlin yelled out with force, before thrusting his head back. It was time. _

_It was beyond time._

_This was his strongest power, what he was meant to do._

_In modern language, these were the sorcerer's words._

"_DRAGON! CEASE!"_

_The creature howled hideously._

_Merlin faced it firmly, able to become a being beyond even his own comprehension as Dragonlord._

"_HEAR MY CALL. I AM MASTER OF YOU. KIN THAT YOU MUST OBEY. _

_NOW LEAVE HIM ALONE."_

_Merlin's force was awesome, and yet still the dragon showed pinches of reluctance, inhabiting a spirit more fiery than Kilgharrah. Even as it turned away from the prince, it released a stubborn roll of partially produced flames._

_Furious and fully in protective mode, Merlin, with eyes of flashing gold, magically sent a spear flying through the air. It rounded with lightning speed, veered into a straight directed line, then suddenly ignited with flame as it threatened the dragon's heart. _

_The magnificent creature actually cowered some, unable to ignore the weapon and the commanding voice of the sorcerer…the Dragonlord. _

_The lord of dragons could be compared to a king's power over its subjects, its call so potent that even the most obstinate creature had to heed._

"_LOOK AT ME." Merlin ordered._

_The dragon did, swishing its tail with defiance, and yet still no flame._

_With a simple worded sweep of his hand, Merlin directed the weapon downward, ready to use it again though if needed._

_The second part came in now of a Dragonlord's task…the softening. This was why else dragons could not turn away, because here the Dragonlord reminded of deepest innocent times, of a mother's tendering._

_With his gentled air, Merlin could feel the edging pain in the creature. It struck him sensitively as he asked with a quieter voice._

"_What is your name? Your true one."_

"_I have many as so do you, all just as vital. But my earliest is Cerendor."_

"_Why do you hate Uther Pendragon?"_

"_You know why Sorcerer."_

"_Tell me your strongest reason."_

"_I had five children of my mate. Uther Pendragon destroyed them all, but not only that sin did he commit. He forced their mother, my mate, to witness their murders, and me to witness not only those, but also hers. _

_He is an evil cowardly feeble being. His death would be most welcome by all who practice magic…except you…it seems, Merlin the Sorcerer. For some reason ridiculous enough you reside in his kingdom. You protect him and his people. _

_Why?"_

_The dragon was clever, but also not able to hide it all. Almost the same as it had been with Kilgharrah, Merlin could feel the creature's agonies ever so starkly. _

"_You have your destiny to follow. I've been told I have mine. More importantly I KNOW mine now. Believe that I feel your pain, have my own too of my father who Uther Pendragon never allowed to live in peace, but the man behind you, who you just tried to singe with your fiery breath, is not him. _

_You have made the people of Camelot suffer, you have tried to kill the prince I serve loyally, and so I warn you now. _

_Do not trifle with me Cerendor. _

_Your solution is feeble anyway. All you have lost will not be removed by evil forms of magic."_

_The dragon frowned with unhappiness. "We are BOTH magical beings. We should be united Dragonlord."_

_Merlin shook his head firmly. "No, we cannot be. I do not believe in magic the way you do. I will never use it for harm, to kill innocent people, to strike down a valiant man who has protected me since I first came into his service. I use it for good. You use it to hurt. That is where we are different, on opposite sides."_

_The dragon didn't seem to like the comment, but Merlin wasn't finished so it was given no time to respond._

"_You must LEAVE this land. _

_NEVER threaten again the lives of anyone in Camelot. _

_For if you do, _

_Next time I will not spare you." _

_Cerendor wanted to object. Merlin could tell, and yet the force of his words, the strength he had as Dragonlord, wouldn't allow it. _

_So instead the dragon curiously questioned._

"_I think we will meet again Merlin the Sorcerer. _

_Do you see that future as well?"_

_Merlin simply nodded his head._

_The dragon appeared to smile, its blazing black face shining in the bit of fiery light as it noticed a movement behind the sorcerer. _

_Hmmm…it wondered inquiringly. _

_How long had their conversation been eavesdropped upon?_

"_I have nothing, not one bit to lose…_

_Emrys. _

_Just one of your other names, as I remind I have more too."_

_Merlin frowned, but kept calm. "I know that and like I said I also have had losses._

_And yet I have not chosen to terrorize a kingdom."_

_The dragon shrugged._

"_If we are fated to meet again…"_

_It continued darkly._

"_Do you think it will be as foes…_

_Or friends?"_

_Merlin wondered now ominously if he should just send the spear through its heart, do the most malevolent thing, like he had with Morgana when he gave her the poison to drink, to save his prince, the kingdom, and even himself. _

_Magic had many burdens, service many pains, and yet it was too easy to just kill the dragon, too wrong. _

_It felt murderous._

_Besides,_

_The dragon would have no choice in any meeting, but to listen to him…_

_Right?_

_He cleared his throat._

"_That will be your choice Dragon Cerendor. Make a wise one._

_The dragon actually laughed, secretly noticing more of it, interesting, before it bowed low oddly enough. _

"_I heed Dragonlord. I have no choice but to. _

_For now…_

_Goodbye Merlin Emrys. _

_I will not forget you spared me._

_You shouldn't either._

_Farewell."_

_It spun away, its wings fluttering so rapidly that it left firing sparks in its wake. Merlin watched with question. _

_Did he do the right thing? _

_This was not at all like it had been with Kilgharrah, and yet he was a sorcerer, not an executioner. _

_There was only silence left after the dragon's fiery departure. _

_And then a slight rustling of clacking stones…_

_Gurgling…_

_Water. _

_Some kind of…_

_Movement._

"_So…_

_Merlin…_

_Whoever you are…_

_WHATEVER you are…_

_You have any other secrets you failed to tell me?"_

_The voice rattled him. Merlin's dark eyes of magic, with that leftover golden glow, rapidly changed back to blue, all signs of his sorcery gone, except for-_

_It couldn't be._

_He couldn't have._

_Slowly, just the humble servant now, he turned around._

_Gasped._

_The figure was lifted out of the water, leaning against the weight of one leg, weakened yes, but awake, very much so._

_Eyes pointedly watching._

_Even as something in them seemed to fear, _

_Appeared awesomely dazed._

_Shocked._

_Merlin shook his head, testing out his voice with fear. _

_Strange…_

_When he was the all so mighty…_

_Dragonlord._

_How easily he became the frightened again._

"_How much did you see?"_

_The prince didn't blink._

_Eyes cold._

_Eyes fearful._

_Eyes…_

"_Enough."_

_One word._

_Setting Merlin's bones…_

_To ICE._

"Merlin…did you hear me?

Merlin!"

He focused, at the drawbridge now, the voice coming from his master, as he brought himself out of his memories of that day…

One year ago.

The cave's outcome had not been as _foreboding_ as he had feared it would be.

After all, that person yelling at him now was not just his master, but of course too, the Prince of Camelot, the man who could have had the king sentence him to execution.

And yet chose…

_Not to tell his father_.

Merlin frowned with concern as the prince's paleness became vividly apparent. After his injuries last night, Arthur should be resting some. It looked though like he hadn't even slept for some time, his pupils surrounded by red cracks.

Feeling his arm suddenly being pulled, Merlin followed the lead of the still somewhat limping man.

Impatient, Arthur asked.

"Well…

What?"

Half smiling, the servant whispered.

"_She's awake."_

Only a few feet away from all who worked and his group of knights, too easy to be noticed, Arthur silently clasped his hands with relief. Maybe she had heard him.

_Maybe…_

Weakly he nearly fell to his knees, the emotion strong and the physical tasks he was forcing upon himself finally being felt by his wearied body.

Merlin reached his hand out.

"Arthur?"

The prince dismissed it though quickly. He didn't care about his own state.

She was…

Awake.

Bloody _YES_.

He looked back at the workers, thinking an explanation, nearly stuttering with excitement like his bumbling servant did sometimes.

"Tell-

Quietly Merlin cut him off. "Just _go_. I'll think of something."

Arthur laughed, as the sun shined so clearly above, in a bright blue sky..

"Fine. Just don't get yourself put in the stocks. And none of that…" He half signaled.

Merlin knew what he meant, their sometimes _code_ for…sorcery.

"Ah…_trust me_."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Oh _sure_. I'll know who to blame though if any barrels go rolling across the courtyard knocking down the guards."

Merlin laughed as the prince started to leave, but then Arthur turned back around.

"What?" The servant asked with wondering expression.

Arthur smiled with a touch of fondness now, just happy that-

"Thank you Merlin. You know for what you did last night and-

It was not easy for the prince to show emotion, to express gratitude. Merlin dismissed him gently, waving his hand, ordering like a servant shouldn't, but then…

He wasn't _just_ that.

"Go."

Arthur started to run, not even mad about the _order_, a twittering of pure relief passing by his lips as he practically skipped up the steps. Like an exuberant boy…

One who taught a weird girl how to swing a sword.

Bloody…

YES!

**[]**

_It is when you think that fate is finally kind…_

_That peaceful harmony is shining above you, _

_That your heart excites with giddy innocence…_

_That…_

_hell hisses…_

SURPRISE_._

**[]**

Arthur sped into the room exuberantly, before he halted viciously.

Beyond she was awake, tiredly smiling, fingers grazing over her cheek, her midnight eyes focused with care on the person who occupied them…

_On…_

A pair of eyes _different_ than his own, a touch _far_ from his, a happiness that had _no spark_ he could create.

"Arthur? Sire, I will tell her you've come to visit."

The prince felt it happening again.

_Trickle_

_Trickle._

Always too late.

Always last.

Always not able to reach.

Always…

"_No_…

Don't tell her anything.

Tell her nothing at all."

He slid out of the room before the physician could protest.

Slid against the wall outside.

Feeling the force of all his injuries sickened by their neglect.

Feeling the breath leaving his mouth.

Feeling the pain scream.

Feeling his heart bleed.

Feeling…

_Nothing_

**[]**

To be continued…

Thanks/feedback adored.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Love's Second Cycle-Bleed  
Rating: PG13, Some disturbing elements again  
Characters: For the second cycle: Arthur, Guinevere, Merlin, Lancelot, Ysmay (minor others) (centered on Arthur mostly)  
Spoilers: Season 1&2, but not beyond. This one continues the AU element strongly as it goes further than the show has gone.  
Disclaimer: I disclaim. Merlin is the property of the BBC/Shine.  
For: **camelot_love** 's 14 days of love. This story uses multiple prompts and will be posted in 3 cycles.  
Love's Second Cycle uses this quote, prompted by **jeyla4ever** :  
M-8: _"Love is a friend, a fire, a hell,__  
__Where pleasure, pain and repentance dwell."_  
~Richard Barnfield

**III**

Thanks for your feedback last time! So appreciated! It's so exciting for me to see how many people have put this story on their favorites/watchlist or left me kind words, this one and my other Merlin stories. It's just really cool so thank you so much! Hugs!

In advance I apologize if any of the dividers are not there. I've noticed that on this site pretty much no dividers show up so I'm trying capital letters. Hopefully they will work because I like having clear dividers between sections, better for when you read. I've noticed that some of the other times they haven't shown up so sorry about that.

Bleed** Part III**

"_**Love is a friend, a fire, a hell**_

_**Where pleasure, pain and repentance dwell."**_

~**Richard Barnfield**

**III**

_**Love's innocence abused…**_

_**Choked by the secrecy of lies, shaking fears**_

_**And jealousy's lame excuse.**_

_**The heart is pricked**_

_**The soul ripped.**_

_**For love now dwells in no whispering sweetness.**_

_**But…**_

_**Instead…**_

_**Screeches**_

_**Within**_

_**The strangling**_

_**Clench of**_

_**Hell.**_

**III**

"ARTHUR!"

The servant ran across the courtyard, frantically calling out.

"Arthur?

Arthur…"

The man didn't hear.

Hell's grasp was already too near.

**III**

"I've been told I am…here because of you."

A room just steps away in simultaneous time, a woman lifted heavy eyes.

The man sitting at her side smiled quietly with relief.

Her hand, flawed by the fire's flames, reached out.

Beyond, unbeknownst to them, the fallen man was being tended to.

"Thank you Lancelot."

As the situation grew more urgent outside, _inside_ he gave silent thanks. She had finally parted her lovely dark eyes just precious moments ago. With her voice still heavily raspy and her body only beginning to recover, Lancelot intended to keep the talking to a minimum.

Gwen was not in horrid pain, despite her severe injuries and prevalent discomfort, lying within a thick blanket atop the same cot she had tended to Merlin years ago, in the same room of Gaius's workplace and home quarters. Lifting tired eyes, she could just make out the light of day coming through the window. Confusing, since her last memory she could recall was of night.

Her expression a bit vague now, Lancelot guessed Gwen's mind was murky about the past events. Gaius had said it was understandable, that time would uncover more, but possibly not every detail…_ever_.

Gwen turned away from the window, focusing now again instead on the chisel faced man before her. It was mostly a year since she had seen him last, just receding the second dragon's fiery attacks, and the departure of Arthur, Merlin and a group of Camelot's fierce knights to finally put an end to the beast.

Days after their absence, the already weakened kingdom had been startled by surprise hostile attacks from the far eastern borders, where throne related conflicts were commencing. With half the knights of Camelot gone on the mission with Arthur and Merlin, others injured by the second dragon's attacks, and some only newly trained, Camelot was decidedly vulnerable.

It was during this precarious time, _he_ returned to keep her safe, her knight in theory.

_Lancelot_.

After the danger was over, or at least temporarily halted, the new crop of knights and the small group of veterans actually having been able to defend against the shock of attacks, Lancelot decided his assistance was no longer needed. She disagreed, quietly pleading for him to stay, as simultaneously she prayed for her prince's return.

Perhaps reluctantly, he relented.

The threats of before no longer a concern, but the healing of the kingdom from the _dragon's_ attacks still in progress, Gwen had been thankful for Lancelot's assisting presence. After her long days of tending to the injured he would visit, giving her head rest on his shoulder. They would talk sometimes intimately; other times simply sit in mostly peaceful silence.

Thus in those weeks that neared a month's time, their relationship was allowed to blossom far enough to an evening kiss.

As fate would have it though, the night of their shared affections under a quaking moon, their fingers clinging at each others' cheeks, their mouths tasting…

_He…_

Returned.

They had been seconds away from parting lips, not hearing the prior announcement at the palace's gates, as the prince and Merlin arrived near her little home. Later she would find out it had been on purpose. The prince had wanted to see her…

First.

Witnessing what he did though, the prince made no admittance of such that night, his eyes for a second widening with surprise, before they blinked it all away. Accompanied by a firm set to his jaw, they hardened quickly to sword tip gleam, before total disdain.

And yet that flashing moment of vulnerability had been long enough for her to read the questions of hurt. Starkly she realized it then with finality. The games could not go on. She couldn't bear it any longer, nor was it right to make him suffer through it. Everything about them was simply façade. A waiting joust that would only end with misery, for she was nothing more than a lowly handmaiden, no matter how highly she regarded her work and readily accepted her position, and he was the most noble, a prince soon to be king, a man growing to a destiny that she could never…

Ever…

Be part of.

There was more too of course, even if in the past he had tried to pretend it wasn't there, wasn't an issue. It materialized quickly that night, making his expression change to smirking satisfaction.

Pretend?

Maybe.

But real enough to the king and so right enough for his son's kingdom he would one day take ownership of. Ysmay that night sauntered to her prince. That prince warmly kissed her on the cheek before touching at her lips with his, looking away from the woman who…

Nights after that, a night that was intended in full celebration, Gwen made good on her thought to end the suffering of them both.

She freed her prince. Angered him. Baffled him. Hurt him.

Left him.

Left him to his…

_Destiny_.

For after all, she would never be anything more than a handmaiden, a servant expected to fall to her knees in the company of those she served. He would never be anything less than…

Royalty.

_The man who would order her to her knees_.

Lancelot observed Gwen's focused silence now. She seemed deep in thought. He wondered a bit idly if she was thinking of the last time they saw each other, nearly a year ago, during the time of those surprise attacks. Concerned for her welfare then, he had stuck close by, even spending some nights at the tavern nearby. She had actually pleaded for him to not leave. Days later, weeks gone by, one moon filled evening they kissed in surrounding shadows of the castle's outer towers in front of her house, not realizing their tiny little audience until it was already done.

The prince's reaction had not been easy to read, quickly changing, but it was there for a quivering second, shock. Per usual though of course his words were flippant, his flat line mouth changed to careless smirk. Just like it had been with the rescuing of her from Hengist, the prince pretended no care. Lancelot knew though the truth, that the prince had rushed to rescue her then, and so he couldn't help but wonder that night, if once again the prince had rushed to see her first, only to be jarred by his…

_Competition?_

Lancelot wasn't entirely sure. Gwen's innermost feelings had yet to be revealed to either it seemed. Perhaps with a touch of gallantry, but mostly feeling three was a crowd, he departed soon after.

It was strange though, Lancelot reflected, turning away from his thoughts regarding Gwen for a moment. The prince had shown no knowledge of Merlin's abilities then, and yet after the earthquake just last night, it was obvious that Arthur not only knew about it, but fully accepted it, encouraged its use even…in secret.

Less than a year ago, that night, nothing had given to that.

Something else was given though. She seemed terribly fond of him, the Lady Ysmay, and the prince seemed to return some of that outward display with an arguably chaste kiss, perhaps a reaction of pure jealousy. Lancelot wasn't sure, although it was obvious how well the _king_ responded to the interaction, as Gwen's face showed simply hurt.

Lancelot had mused about it all as he rode away late into the night after the prince's return, once again secretly, shamefully not saying goodbye to Gwen.

Oh how he had hated leaving her in such way, but there was no place for him in Camelot, not with her prince returned especially.

Maybe the presence of Lady Ysmay had meant an opening for him…

Still he couldn't walk into it. It was wrong. Showed no gallantry.

The type he fought to be…honorable. Respectful.

And yet now, here he was. Back again. Everything changed.

This time he would _not_ leave.

Not yet anyway. Not so easily. Not so trusting.

He gave the prince his chance then.

Seemed he failed.

Failed to save her.

Failed to…

_God…_

_Heaven…whatever it be…_

If he hadn't come…

_No._

He had left that night, but didn't depart as far away as he had the first time. This time he had found a home much closer to the palace, to Gwen. Taking a menial job serving a noble of a neighboring kingdom, Lancelot was able to keep a closer eye on the happenings of Camelot. Thus, he was near enough last night to feel the quake's beginning rumbles, in close enough proximity to race forward on horseback. Then by foot he had rushed through the somewhat familiar high ceiling hallways to the in-normal-times smoldering kitchen area.

Only last night the smolders had escaped the ruined doorway, monsterishly out of control, flames of the most sinister being.

Stopping with already choking breaths, the smoke torturously heavily thick, in the black fiery haze he was just able to spot it, ravaged folds of lavender. It innocently peeked through the red blood spiked orange flames, half mottled by soot.

Gasping, forsaking his own safety in what was most definitely a treacherous situation, Lancelot dove through a pocket of flames, feeling it only singe at his long sleeves, before he pushed them back fiercely, no longer allowing the dancing fires to catch. Coughing more as his being became fully enmeshed in the fiery grave hell was producing, he pulled at the lavender with desperate fingers. Pulled until the softness of her luscious body was against his hardened one, whipped at the threatening flames already mauling her dress with his coat. Then bringing her against his chest, her legs hanging over his embracing arms, he slid across the floor, doing his best to avoid the screeching embers above. So fast he moved, he did not witness the carnage heavily of those she had tried to save.

Once out, he choked, collapsed upon already lowered knees. He knew he could not stay though. The fire was too out of control. Looking down upon her face, he saw no recognition of his deed, no answer to his pleads of her name. There was a slight breath though at least escaping the beat of her chest. She was alive…if only just so.

As he had hurried down the hallways, he lost his way, in between the rumbling tumbling shocks that followed the quake. He fell a few times at first from the tickles of soot that stained his throat. It was why he had not seen Merlin come down. With no clear direction, the shaking sometimes continuing, the castle so immense and littered with quake damage, he wandered too long, if maybe in real time only a few precious moments.

Finally rounding back out to the kitchen, he heard the yell, more like scream from the depths of purgatory. He knew which man it came from. Finding them at the kitchen's entrance on their knees, the fire miraculously out now…_must have been Merlin_…he informed them that who they mourned…

Still breathed.

If only just a bit.

He never wanted to let her go, almost ignored the prince's hard edged sarcasm about who should hold her, because she just felt too precious in his arms. She had nearly…

_Oh God. Or Gods. Or magical beings. Whatever it was_.

He was no deeply spiritual man, only simple, honorable, and at that moment, desperate. She had pierced his heart without her knowing the moment he had felt her hands measure at his sides for his knight's uniform those years ago.

The woman he loved.

Who loved another.

Who another loved.

_Complicated Purgatory_. It held no mercy.

Less than a year's time ago, he left. This time, he had yet to depart.

If ever.

_He_ had claimed he was her prince, prince of his people, and yet where was he?

Lancelot could only shudder in the fact that if he had not chosen a place nearby to live, maybe…

He still had not left yet.

He _would not _until…

What he was doing was right, just, protecting her.

_Protecting her even from inconvenient truths_.

Secrets that perhaps he had no right…

To hold?

He did not know, maybe did not care, that around, above, Heaven frowned heavily.

_No good can come from this_.

But no good either could have come from those flames that had been licking at her skin being allowed to turn her to ash. He had thrust his coat down upon them with haste, hitting, smothering til they faded away, leaving ugly burned scarring.

And yet nothing could ever make her not beautiful.

Nothing could make him leave her side.

Not even the man who was called her…

_Prince_.

The servant hurriedly entered now, beyond the fallen form of his master.

She turned with notice, wincing at the slight discomfort it brought, but she was determined to see. _It was Merlin_. He was gesturing to Gaius anxiously, getting the man to follow him out of the room.

_Why?_

Merlin's distress usually meant…

The fallen prince outside heard none of her inner concerns, felt none of her nearby presence asking in heart of _his_ missed presence. Instead beyond his heavily closed eyes he drifted to the outskirts of the most sinful desert, bringing to his mind a thousand screeching nightmares of her death…before his heart blazed back that _no she was alive_.

_But never his…_

Hell hissed.

Never.

"_Lancelot?" _

Leaving all his conflicted thought, Lancelot followed the lead of her eyes, suddenly wondering too.

"Merlin seems worried about something…what is it?"

He was the _gallant_ one. Hah. The noble hero Lancelot.

With the most _thorned_ secret. One he hated keeping, and yet selfishly, protectively, would not divulge.

Only his answer now was at least complete truth. He was just as confused as her by Merlin's sudden hasty actions.

"I do not know."

The answer was unsatisfactory, bringing to her mind the beginning year. She recalled now the worst night of the dragon's attacks. She had rushed across the flaming courtyard, until _he_ called out, grabbed at her arm.

Then under a rapidly thrown blanket, he almost bruisingly pressed his lips to her own, before they magically softened under soft lavas of heat, making her feel she was gloriously melting, before protocol hissed at her _enough_.

Two men had kissed her, of significance beyond young flirtations of a simple girl's road in life. Two men ever so different that even the moisture of their lips were as contrary as breakfast to dinner meal.

One had dark rough locks of steel brushed hair, chisel so manly, wide eyes tumbling through the night's calling, but then a voice in sweet softness, almost naïve. He fought like a warrior, and yet when his hand enclosed hers, it did with a gentility that made her knees weaken to stumbling ecstasy.

The other had golden waves of silk soft hair that ruffled in the wind playfully, eyes as vivid as daytime sky, a look so deceivingly innocent at times that it hid the rough timbre of his voice when angry, when commanding with a confidence that could astonish. He fought like a king, regally brutally graceful, and yet when his fingers brushed by her cheek, they heated it to the warmest rapture.

Two men so different so of course the feel of their mouths pressed to hers was contrary too, but she had yet to say which she favored most.

She had yet to reveal if she even had a clear answer to that inquiry…love an emotion she felt for…

_Both_ men.

_Simple Hell._

Her worry climbed through her unsteady heart now, past choked stained lungs still wearied by the flames of the night before.

She thought of it fiercely, how she had spoken to Merlin, Lancelot too of course, knew every fate but…

_One_.

Maybe that was why her voice trembled beyond just tiredness as too dry lips parted to ask.

"Where is he?"

As her heart tremored unsteadily like the earth still every wry moment gave a little unwelcome _shake_.

"Who?"

Lancelot asked too innocently, too pretending to be misunderstanding, too much not wanting now to think of who else she had feelings for, that as much the other didn't understand his, he didn't understand that other's.

In her midnight eyes flashed unresolved fear.

"Arthur…"

_Outside…_

Gaius and Merlin hurried after the helping knights, tending to their most distinguished leader who was exhausted to sickness. Behind closed eyes smothered into a hell where she endlessly died in his far too reaching arms.

_Inside…_

"Where is he Lancelot?

Where is Arthur?"

_Trickle_

_Trickle…_

Hearts leaked.

Hell was the most repellent dwelling.

Clawing at its acidic magma walls,

Love searched a way…

OUT

**III**

_**Three Days Later…**_

_Purgatory is not quite yet done playing its teasing game_

_Snaring its victims into its labyrinth of awaiting barbs._

_Cackling at the fiendish result of pitting them against each other._

"What are you doing? You're not supposed to be up!"

The prince pushed his arm through the quilted sleeve, his jaw clenched tight, trying hard to avoid hitting the material too strongly against his still mending hand as he responded roughly.

"I've lain in that bed enough. I'll spend not another minute in it, not while my people need me, not while the kingdom still recovers."

It was the plain truth, even if he didn't reveal the other reason. That _hellish_ dreams lay beyond sleep, ones where his failure to reach her in time, resulted in the most unwelcome…

Outcome.

Ones that made him wake in tremoring heart shaking quakes of repulsive sweat and terror.

Merlin rolled his eyes at the one answer revealed. _Typical_. The prince had insisted when staying at Gwen's place a full size mattress because the floor was _too_ hard, and yet when he was given the allowance to rest comfortably in his finely cushioned bed, he couldn't last past a couple of days before disobeying medical orders.

Three days ago when the prince had collapsed outside against the wall, Gaius noticed the extent of Arthur's improperly cared for injuries. His leg was fractured and his hand needed better removal of the stone, better wrapping, but even beyond that was an emotional weariness that had taken its full toll. Tending to the physical, the physician then ordered the young prince to bed rest for it, and the less obviously seen injury

Merlin understood that well. The prince he doubted had slept at all the night past the quake, his eyes reddened with cracks the day he told him about Gwen's waking.

Now finally he had rested, and yet disturbingly enough not a single crack seemed removed, their red still cutting through the prince's vision. Still, Merlin knew no argument would work. It was painfully obvious the prince had enough of being confined to his bed. No order would get past his stubbornness.

Merlin inquired quietly,

"That day, you know when Gwen woke up…did you talk to her first, before you fell?"

Arthur finished with the gambeson quilted undershirt, his answer dismissive even as he couldn't fully rid his body of the hot chills that would come to him during his ugly dreams.

"No.

Merlin, get my shirt."

The servant reached for a red tunic, understanding now the reason of the redness not being gone. _Nothing_ was settled. Standing at the prince's side, he carefully helped the man with getting the worn, by royal standards and yet the prince never wanted a new one, material of the tunic past his head and shoulders.

Protesting moodily at the servant's '_kid handling_' of him, Arthur only passively noticed how the sun's mottled form was already blazing into his room on what was starting out as an uncomfortably muggy day.

"I am not crippled Merlin! I can get my own shirt on."

Merlin smiled wryly, for the moment playfully forgetting any worries. Sure the prince _could_, and yet still he regularly _expected_ things like his armor being carried, polished and such. He always wanted…to be waited on hand and foot…_well_…most of the time anyway.

Truth be it, Arthur was a rare contradiction that Merlin didn't witness in most other young royals who sometimes were spoilt beyond reason, and left the hard battle to those they commanded. The prince could be the most annoying egotistical royal prat, and at the same, a leader with gallant, brave tendencies who always watched out for those in his care. Unlike some of those other royals, Arthur demanded on being in the heat of the battle, charging forward at the start of each bloody encounter with not an inch of fear.

He often remarked _it_ was what killed you first, fear. No time to be scared, and so never make the mistake of allowing it to seep through.

"Well then you should be able to _find_ it too, shouldn't you?" Merlin teased back about the tunic, rarely as sentimental as he might have been when he first encountered Camelot, the prince's dryness over the years wearing off on him some, and his own just a little bit wryer.

Let it be said, Merlin was definitely not like any other servant Arthur had before. Merlin actually answered back, regularly.

Merlin countered, volleyed, and even refused at his bravest…with simple words.

The prince's look sharpened to the point of a dagger.

The servant gave an innocent crooked smile, habitually used to its effect.

Arthur rolled his eyes, realizing yet one more time with bewildering wonder how the servant's unexpected comeback tempered his usually fiery spirit. Sometimes he still had no understandable answer to why he allowed it. No other servant would have gotten away with half of what Merlin did.

No other servant was as…

Interesting as Merlin.

As…

_Mysterious_…

To everyone, even him…

Merlin carried a dangerous secret, a criminal one, a life threatening one.

One Arthur knew well now.

Found out in a…cave of all places…

Found out moments from what could have been his own…

Death.

_He was it._

_A sorcerer._

_His bumbling servant was a sorcerer, a bloody powerful one at that. _

_On shaky legs for more reason than just his injuries, Arthur could feel the water trickling down from his chainmail to his pants, the patterns of wetness left over from when he fell unceremoniously into the cavern pond. The pond he had blurrily awakened from to see the most…_

_Amazing sight._

_There he was, his servant, eyes of flashing gold, words that no mortal Arthur had ever heard of speak, a language so foreign of tongue it existed in no known kingdom. His servant though communicated it efficiently with the dragon, fiercely commanding it with a voice so deep it had lifted at the hairs on Arthur's neck. Made his bones chill with fear._

_All of that awesomeness and now the dragon was gone, Merlin's eyes were back to their innocent blue, and if the prince wasn't mistaken, the young man was clearly shaking with terrible fright._

_A sorcerer…_

_Afraid?_

_Merlin asked the stupid question about how much he had seen. _

_Arthur answered strongly that it was enough._

_Then came out his rash side, as he recalled without having understood a single spoken word, how Merlin had let the dragon flee. He let go the vile beast that had injured, murdered those of Camelot, including an unrecoverable portion of the knights, _

_Merlin let go such a horrific creature. _

_Perhaps he should think of his actions, that this young monster could just lift his evil sorcerer hands and kill him in an instant, but Arthur's instincts were often stronger than his mind._

_He engaged purely in the physical now, leaping past the pond, ignoring any hurt in his limbs. He picked up his fallen sword and swooped it up into the air, raised it to do the mortal deed._

_A sorcerer. A betrayer. An enemy._

_Reaching the servant's side with alarming speed, Arthur locked at Merlin's ankle with his. It caused the younger man to sprawl toward the ground, his back hitting the jagged rock with a whoosh of painful air. _

_Half on his knees, crouched even with a smarting leg, Arthur determinedly lowered his sword to the defenseless servant, before he lifted it high. Squared it in direction of the mortal heart for a questionless kill._

_All set to go…_

_Just one flash downward and his shining blade would contain the lifeless blood. _

_Just…_

"_You betrayed me Merlin. You betrayed all of Camelot. Now…_

_You will meet your deserving fate."_

_Instead of striking, he dug the blade against the treacherous sorcerer's tunic, hearing the catch of voice the metal whispered to the vulnerable skin underneath. He wanted a reaction. He wanted to delay it…at least for a few moments._

_Finally the servant pleaded. "Arthur. Listen to me."_

_He sounded like the youth who first came to him. Even as Merlin had recently reached a more manly age, it did little to make him less boyish in appearance. For years now Arthur had looked out for his welfare when in battle, always making sure Merlin was safely away from any danger. _

_And it was for naught. _

_Who knew what this boy/man had conjured up in his sick malevolent head? Who knew if he sent the dragon to wreck havoc upon the land and people, himself?_

"_I am a sorcerer…yes…but I have never betrayed you Arthur. Never Camelot."_

_Arthur sneered. Lifted the blade…once more. One second was all it would take. He was experienced enough to do it. He was a killing machine, a mechanism, born, trained, skilled enough to end a life in an eye's blink. He knew exactly which direction the blade needed to drive at, knew the soft tissue it would have to cut through. He knew what would be needed to avenge all the needless deaths this sick creature allowed. All he had to do was lower it quickly. Suck the life out of the traitor._

_It was perhaps moments of weakness though, too many memories cemented into his brain, possibly even his heart. Ones of laughter and relieved smiles. Barbs of silliness. _

_And he couldn't look past it, the eyes he had grown to know all too well, the such familiar blue that years ago, that very first time, squared courageously as his mouth elicited that word…prat. He had challenged him then, even as it was so obvious how clumsy the boy was at fighting. _

_Even as…_

_That second time odd things had happened. Arthur felt himself falling for no explained reason that day. _

_Ah…well now here it was._

_It would take just one second to spear into the monster's vital. To KILL what needed to be killed._

_His arms would move no further though. The aim felt too hard, too distracted. He'd killed the enemy so easily before, never hesitated in striking, but now his limbs felt heavy, like the push into the heart would be too much a burden. _

_It was all the servant's fault, so still, so shaking with fear. Merlin was pretending to be weak, a victim and yet look what he had done. Look what he caused. Look what he…WAS._

_A wicked sorcerer._

_A wicked sorcerer who for some reason just lay still now, didn't magically end this. Why not? Why didn't he fight? Why did he pretend he could do nothing when it was so obvious he was capable of much more? _

_He'd watched him with the dragon, heard the horrifying decibels the boy's mouth rose to, volumes Arthur could not even begin to fathom. Volumes that had shocked his being._

_Arthur thought it viciously, get up Merlin. Fight you bastard traitor. Fight me! Make your death just._

"_I am your loyal servant."_

_Oh those words, those traitorous claims. Arthur growled viciously, but still his arms felt like lead, would not move. _

_He couldn't listen to him anymore. That was it. If the boy wouldn't fight, he'd just do it, end it all. Now. He had to. _

_He snarled back,_

"_You are a sorcerer, a stupid one to bring your magic to Camelot when you've known full well for years of the laws against it. _

_Well now your stupidity will be met by the slice of my blade."_

_Merlin countered fiercely, the servant's familiar rambling rants finally leaking out._

"_If all I am is an evil sorcerer then why haven't I struck you down yet, Sire? I've had many a chance. Why haven't I taken it? Because even the times you've been such a royal prat, I've never wished you dead Arthur."_

_The prince couldn't help but smile at the all too familiar name calling. Merlin used such regularly, even once made him ridiculously think he was fat. And he got away with it all. It was hard to gain the prince's trust, but Arthur had grown in a short time to trust Merlin implicitly. _

_Those dumb blue eyes wanting him to listen now. Stupid skinny kid. Why did you come to Camelot Merlin? Arthur wanted to ask. Why did you lead me to this horrible decision you're forcing me to make now? Why did you make me actually…get on with you? When now it must all end. I must kill you._

_I will kill you. I will delight in it. I will never mourn you._

_FIE…why wouldn't his arms move?_

_He had done this so many times, never hesitated, never felt the heaviness. Why couldn't he do it now?_

_The smile faded, hardened to a flat line. He was a prince who would one day be king. Enough of this weakness. Magic was forbidden, magic was a sin. Yes, sometimes he didn't agree with his father's ways. He had saved that boy Mordred after all, but no good came from magic._

_Right?_

_Perhaps the servant saw the chance, for he went on. Weaved through the cracks in the steel._

"_I've only used my magic for good Arthur. I swear that. I didn't know it was forbidden in Camelot when I first came. My mother sent me because I didn't really fit in…in Ealador. I didn't know how to channel what I knew. So she sent me to Camelot to…Gaius."_

_Arthur scrutinized sharply. "So he's been helping you?"_

_It seemed the servant feared what his words maybe told too much of. He shook his head violently, as he lay underneath the harsh light of the prince's blade, the metal point eerily reflecting his frantic expression. _

"_NO. I…mean…well you know how he once did magic when the king allowed it, but no more. He…whatever you do to me, Gaius has done no wrong. He's warned me not to use my magic plenty of times and he obeys the king. Kill me if you want, but Gaius is innocent. My mother is. Do nothing to her. Don't allow-_

_Arthur stared. The servant was mumbling, stuttering his words with repeated tremors. He seemed to be understanding that his execution could lead also to those he was affiliated with._

_A flash of gold came to the servant's eyes as he became the sorcerer again. Arthur gasped at its returned appearance. Those eyes gleamed like the shiniest golden goblet. They were repulsively horrifying. They were beastly. It made it easy again, took away the heaviness. Merlin was no longer his ally, but some thing that needed to be destroyed, some evil entity. It was time. He had to do this now. Arthur prepared to drive the sword in stronger, got ready to make the blood…_

_Flow._

_Merlin grasped magically to turn the blade on his prince and yet…_

_Something held not right it seemed. _

_The gold in his eyes faded away, turned back to innocent blue. His ragged sigh signaled failure, emotional…_

_Pain._

"_I can't do it."_

_Arthur felt like he was flipping through a thousand shocks, a new one now as his servant's eyes returned to their natural blue, actually started to moisten, fill with unshed tears. It drilled without his wanting at Arthur's heart. He should have done it when he had the chance, but once again he showed his weakness, held back for some unexplainable reason. If his father had seen all this, Merlin would be in a dungeon now. Merlin might even be…_

_Dead already._

_The servant spoke quietly, complete resignation, with just one inch of foreboding for those he loved._

"_I can't kill you, even though I know you may not stop with me. I can't kill... _

_Sire, my father suffered enough. Please leave my mother…_

_In peace. _

_Or from the grave I will haunt you. I promise you that Arthur."_

_The prince held still, didn't lower the blade further, an emotion too deep now by Merlin's words. He had to speak of his mother of course. Arthur never knew his own, never saw her, and that would always be his biggest pain, regret. Hole in his soul. If only he could have known her for a few precious moments. Seen her. Feel her. Smell her…he imagined her scent was heavenly, her voice gentle and…_

_Oh yes. Loss of a mother was something he understood too well. It made sense Merlin spoke so fiercely about his and Merlin had good reason to be worried. When his father would come to find out he was a sorcerer, he would possibly go after her too, bring her to judgment. And yet as far as Arthur knew the woman was not responsible for any crime. He actually liked her, but no telling how the king would react. He sometimes seemed so blind when it came to magic. And as for Merlin's father…_

_Wait a minute._

_His father? _

"_You told me once you never knew your father. Are you saying now that was another lie?"_

_The servant shook his head._

"_I didn't know him, no lie."_

_He paused heavily. _

_Arthur nodded his head, actually listening now, betraying what his sharp brain's instinct screamed at him to do. _

"_Except for one full day, and one inch of another. I saw him. I spoke to him. I learned why I am…what I am."_

_Arthur cocked his head at that. He actually…saw him? When?_

"_What do you mean? Who was your father?"_

_Perhaps the sorcerer was recalling sweeter memories, because he smiled fondly for a handful of seconds, before the moisture crept more into his eyes, a tear even being allowed passage finally, traipsing down his cheek. _

"_He was magical too. For that he was hunted…for years. He had no choice but to leave the woman he loved, never find out of his son…until…"_

"_Who was he Merlin?" _

_Arthur asked pointedly, needing to know now, for some fathomless reason._

"_Balinor. My father was Balinor…Sire."_

_The answer brought a new shock. Arthur's eyes widened with it._

_Merlin's father had been…_

_Balinor?_

_It confounded him, before it all came together. _

_But of course. Now it finally made sense. Merlin had been so moody then as they took that trip, so quiet and disturbed by something he wouldn't reveal. Then when they found him, after Arthur's bout of sickness from his injuries, and the man's first refusal to help, Merlin seemed happy when the man changed his mind. Not just happy, but…fulfilled in some way. _

_Arthur recalled it now with a new sense, that fateful morning, when Balinor was stricken by a sword, stricken down. Merlin had later revealed, a year ago, that Balinor had actually saved him in that battle, sacrificed himself because Merlin had not been quick enough with the sword. Arthur had thought then, kind of oddly gallant. But now it was clarified. Balinor was only protecting his son just like his own father would do for him._

_Balinor. Merlin had indeed known him for only one day. He watched his father die in front of him, after being with him for such a short time. So of course there had been tears in his eyes that his silly servant tried to hide. Of course that death had meant so much to him. Arthur had told him then his theory of no knight being worth his tears…their honor being beyond that, and yet how callous those words must have seemed. It was not a knight, a man who was going to help them even, but the boy's father._

_Balinor had been Merlin's father. Balinor the Dragonlord._

_Wait a minute. Balinor had been…a Dragonlord so…_

_Merlin…_

_Was he?_

_Oh heavenly Camelot!_

_He let the dragon leave. Once again, maybe it was he who sent the dragon in the first place. Maybe this had been his final vengeance. Arthur had let too much emotion seep through about who the boy's father was, but now enough of this. Balinor had seemed a good man, and maybe in some ways he was, but too he was this thing that Merlin was. He was magical with who knows what agenda. Merlin was his offspring, just as vile possibly. He should have done more back then. If Merlin was so sickeningly magical, why did he allow all this MISERY? Merlin was pure evil if…why didn't that evil DO SOMETHING?_

"_Why don't you get up Merlin? Why don't you strike me? If you're as EVIL as your father was-_

_The servant cut through fiercely. "He was NOT evil! My father was a GOOD man! But your father hated his kind so he hunted him down…he never allowed him a life of peace! He forced him to move…to keep moving…to become a hermit. _

_Magic is not a CRIME Arthur. It should not be judged so awfully. My father was born like this._

_I…_

_Was born like this."_

_It was the strongest defiance from his servant._

_And then it sunk out of him without warning, with alarm. _

_Arthur knew he couldn't care though, couldn't allow any vulnerability. Who knew if the sorcerer was just waiting? Who knew if…_

_Oh all of Camelot…his father was Balinor. How complicated could Merlin be? His simple servant so much disgustingly more. So many lies and secrets. _

_He thought of it now, how in Ealador Merlin had wanted to confess something to him, had seemed scared to. Oh he fooled him even then._

"_It was you…not Will who caused that wind, wasn't it Merlin? Was it you too…_

_Who defeated the first dragon? Or did you just let him go…_

_Like you did this one? _

_I mean come on Merlin! How is it that I could deliver a mighty blow…_

_Whilst lying unconscious?"_

_Now it was all found out, the service of the servant/sorcerer. _

"_It was me, and believe it killed to allow Will to make up that lie during his last breathing moments. And yes it was me again…and yes…_

_I let him go."_

_The truth was too ugly. Too disgusting. This thing before him was not the ally he had thought him to be. He was not even a powerful sorcerer, but one who should feel shame for his allowance of so much carnage. The sick boy allowed his own friend to pretend on his death bed he was something else. _

_Arthur's eyes filled with revulsion. Maybe his servant was just a coward, a lying treacherous weak sorcerer who allowed the deaths of others ever so…_

_Easily._

_Arthur screamed, uncontained._

"_We marched into this cave MERLIN! Half of the knights are DEAD because you did nothing. All the loss in the kingdom, those innocent children nearly perishing! Camelot only begins to recover because you stood and just WATCHED. You let your own friend die in DISHONOR for something he didn't even do? This goes beyond my father! I WANT to kill you now! I will!"_

_Merlin cried out, one last time, tears too free in their passage now. "NO! I told you allowing Will to make that excuse for me hurt so awfully. I loved Will like a brother. I have hated keeping this secret. Kill me. I don't care. Just…_

_I've done all of this…_

_In service to you._

_I've stayed in Camelot keeping this secret…_

_To protect you. _

_I know so many lives have been lost. But I have done my best to save those I can too. I've…_

_Kept you safe Sire. For that there has to be sacrifice. _

_I've learned that the hard way."_

_Merlin turned his head away, looked at the walls of the cave, not caring it seemed to see what his prince would do next._

_Arthur didn't know why, but he believed him about Will. Maybe it was all those tears that came, the strangled effect of his voice. If this was a façade, Merlin was too good at it. But then Merlin had been a pretty good liar too._

_Resolve fastened, even if it didn't bring him any satisfaction, Arthur lifted the sword high._

_Merlin turned at that moment, met his eyes._

_Whispered. "Do it."_

_His arms were no longer heavy. His instinct was strong. It would be one clean swipe. _

_There was little fear in the servant's eyes now, just resignation of what was to be._

_Fiercely…_

_Swiftly…_

_Arthur brought the blade down._

"_I knew you would hate me when you found out. I knew it."_

_The words startled his drive. The blade landed off kilter, but enough to make the servant gasp with pain. It hit somewhere. It cut through something. But the heart?_

_Arthur stared as Merlin gurgled with discomfort._

_The blade not hitting exactly right, fell away, the sword clashing against the rocky ground, released from the prince's shaking hands with almost haste._

_Hate him?_

_Merlin had wondered in Ealador if Arthur would think anything differently of him if…_

_Arthur had then thought it was about an inability to fight, but this is what Merlin had been scared of. Merlin had feared he would hate him for being magical, just like his father hated everything magical. Merlin had feared his prince would have no tolerance for…_

_What he had been born with. What he possibly had no choice in. _

_And yet…_

"_You missed…Sire." Merlin informed now dryly, before coughing. _

_Missed and yet…it was obvious some of it had been effective. The servant was in definite pain._

_It was because of those words…that word. Hate. Arthur knew he should just raise the sword now, finish the job. Kill him before returning to Camelot._

_Hate._

_God Merlin…Holy Heaven Merlin…why do you make me think? Why do I even care?_

_Merlin showed one last bit of defiance. He wasn't dead yet so of course…not ready to shut up yet either._

_Arthur mused on it with dark humor._

"_Just one more thing you should know. I'm not a coward. If I was I never would have kept looking out for your royal backside."_

_Arthur smirked at that without any instruction to do so. Just instinct that lay beyond the brain. Even in dying Merlin would not close that big mouth of his._

_Merlin had even more to say, giving no indication how deeply the blade had struck, but what seemed a shaking steadily invading his body now._

"_I let the first dragon go, but I warned him to never return to Camelot. To never hurt its people again. And I did the same with this one…Sire. That may mean nothing to you…but it is important. Dragons must heed Dragonlords. They have no choice but to."_

_Right. As Merlin was one. Had he always been?_

_Merlin answered Arthur's unspoken question._

"_I became one after my father's death. It is passed down to son, just like you will become king…when…"_

_Arthur grimly swallowed, not wanting to think of such a day, and not wanting to listen. But Merlin was noticeably trembling now. His speech was interrupted by tremors._

_The servant continued, words sounding heavy. _

"_I don't agree with your father's…feelings on magic, obviously, but I know too he is right that some use magic for ill being. I am against that. _

_Magic should be used for good…not evil. _

_I was told once that our…fates are linked, yours and mine. I don't know if that's all true, but I know I serve you loyally. And I know that THIS part was true, many will try to stop you from becoming king. They already have._

_I have served to protect you from them."_

_Arthur scrutinized sharply. Was his life threatened even more than he knew? Sure he had enemies, but had there been times Merlin interfered that he did not know about? _

_He recalled now the moments after his feverish state, how he had marveled the fact that magical beast's bite hadn't actually killed him. It should have. The beast's bite was supposed to be lethal and yet…_

"_How was it that I lived…you know when that Questing Beast bit me? Its bite was supposed to insure death."_

_Merlin nodded his head dully. The servant's movements were growing more ragged. Slow. His blue tunic was turning to…_

_Red._

"_You should have died…but there was one way to guarantee your life. If I gave mine. That was the only way to keep the balance. The rule of The Old Religion…of…everything. One life for another. _

_But Nimueh tricked me. Instead of seeking my life, she sought my mother's. Then later Gaius's…so I had no choice but to get rid of her. She was too evil."_

_Arthur stared, dumbfounded. Merlin could be lying to him…_

_But-_

"_Nimueh…is that the woman who tricked me in the cave when I went to find that flower to heal you?"_

_Merlin's look was troubled, beyond his moans that were starting to come out now between spoken words. "Sounds like."_

_Arthur slowly nodded his head, thinking of more, not focusing on the trail of blood that was starting to deepen._

"_There was a light. The cave was dark and this light just…appeared. I thought it wanted to do away with me at first, but it LED me out of the cave. Did you have something to do with that Merlin?"_

_The servant shrugged painfully. "I guess. I honestly don't remember Arthur. I was sick. But he said that I spoke your name during my fevers…that I conjured up something. Gaius told me-_

_The servant bit his tongue. _

_Arthur listened with understanding. Maybe Merlin was a betrayer, but he couldn't have faked his love for Gaius, like he was a father that…_

_A father…oh wow._

_It was something he had little doubt the servant lied about. His father abhorred magic and could be cruel about his punishments for it, viciously cruel, blindingly. "Did my father really make your father's life unbearable?"_

_Merlin wearily nodded. _

"_Yes. Too for both of the dragons, Sire. He chained the first one of course. He killed all the rest of his kind, but a Dragonlord in secret spared this second one you and I just faced. Your father has many enemies because of his punishments against magic, Arthur. That means you have many too."_

_Merlin's eyes closed, the fatal result of the cut creeping into his spirit._

_Just a few last words he wanted to say it seemed. "I feared you would hate me. Now that's done. It doesn't matter…_

_The past years…uhhh…oh…"_

_Arthur's eyes lifted. The boy was in a lot of pain. When did his tunic get so…_

_Bloody?_

"_It's all done now. Just…Sire…_

_Don't trust easily…_

_Too many…_

_Want you…_

_Ooooohhhh…ah…dead. They don't want Albion to ever unite…or they don't want…_

_Your father to live. Magic…restored…they…oooohhh…just…_

_One or another….aaaahhh…oh…Arthur…both your lives…_

_Merlin paused heavily through a forceful moan._

"_Are…in_

_Danger."_

_Merlin finished with a throaty gasp…his limbs spasming in ugly ways._

_Albion…what was that he said? Arthur kept it in his memory to ask about…_

_Later._

_Mostly the prince watched uncomfortably. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to just die, but the blade hit wrong. Merlin's stupid words. Interfering. It made it slow…not mercifully fast._

"_And YOU don't want to see me dead? My father?"_

_Merlin shook his head quickly, moaning as the action caused more pain. "No…ooohhh…I thought you a prat when I first saw you."_

_Arthur smiled, before he flattened his mouth. Concerned and…_

_Angry?_

"_Still one sometimes…but…ooohhh…you're also…aaaahhh…Arthur he-"_

_Was he actually asking him to assist?_

_If he had been, Merlin didn't continue the words, no matter how much discomfort he was in. "Sire…you need to become king. You're just…oooohhhh…not ready yet. Your father's death…"_

_Merlin gasped torturously now, reaching out without direction. Arthur lifted his hand, steadied it against his servant's spasming arm. "What are you trying to say?"_

"_Hurts…oooohh…bad-ly. Uhhhh…oh Camelot…uh…it's more than that. I lost a father. I wouldn't….ooooohhh…wish it upon someone else…not even…aaaahhh…a prat."_

_Merlin smiled just an inch with those last words, a snarling smile, before he reacted to another deep spasm. Tears dried on his face. Tears of years perhaps gone._

_Arthur looked down at the sword. One swift dig. All it would take. He'd die instantly this time. _

_Turning back to his servant, he saw the strong trails of blood. He had not hit his heart, but he got close. If Merlin died this way, it would be slowly, torturously, but Merlin still could be…_

_His father would think him a coward, a weak being. He should not care. And yet…_

_Violently Arthur ripped the bottom of his tunic, cutting it away to reveal part of his own unmarred skin, except for the bruises from the dragon's attempt to kill._

_Attempt. He should be dead._

_But for Merlin._

_Merlin…gurgling, choking, coughing, struggling to reach for something. Merlin hurt._

_How many times had he protected the boy, relieved when Merlin was okay?_

_Now he might be dying._

_Would he sit and watch?_

_Saved._

_That was the other choice. Possibly the most stupid one._

_Merlin could be saved._

_Arthur pushed through the soaked material with his. Pressed against the wound firmly. _

_Merlin's lips parted with shock._

_Arthur smiled dryly._

"_Close your mouth Merlin."_

"_What…aahhhh…are you doing? I thought you wanted me dead-_

_Arthur shook his head._

_Stupid boy never listened. Always going beyond yes-no answers. Always challenging him. Always…_

_If he had been so wrong all these years, if Merlin was truly evil, why was he lying so acceptingly now, lying on the ground that is? Merlin had the chance to stop him and he had backed away from it, instead enduring Arthur's blade. _

_Merlin was staring at him._

_Arthur battled with brain and heart, growling his words._

"_Just shut up and lie still so it doesn't spread so fast."_

_The servant seemed baffled, but also was not moving as much._

_It relieved Arthur. Something was just so terrible about those spasms. So hard to watch. Merlin was moaning still, but preventing the bleeding was…maybe working?_

_What was he doing? Why hadn't he just-_

_Merlin said he bargained his own life for his. Was that true? A lie? It definitely wasn't a lie that Merlin swallowed a goblet of poison for him. He saw it happen. He watched the boy fall to the ground after smiling that it was fine. Merlin had truly been sick then. Merlin had nearly died then. Later, when he ordered him to stay, Merlin followed him to that beach. He wanted to drink the 'poison' there too…but Arthur wouldn't let him. He drank it first himself, not caring what the test did, just…_

_He couldn't let Merlin die then. It was his fault about the unicorn. He would be the sacrifice for it then._

_That night of the first dragon, nearly even knight died, but a few others and…him. Merlin prevented that dragon from killing him, from returning to Camelot. Merlin prevented this dragon from killing him. Yes he allowed the deaths of the other knights, people, but…because he knew how dangerous his secret was?_

_Maybe Merlin's mission really was to protect…as was his own._

_Think about it._

_If so malevolent, why did Merlin put up with it? If he was a sorcerer and nothing else, with sinful ambition, why would Merlin come to Camelot where magic was banned, and stay when he found that out? Why would he take that chance?_

_Years ago, after their first volatile encounter, Merlin stopped that flying blade, the first of many, from reaching his heart, the evening his father granted the boy with the unglorified position of service to his prince._

_Yet Merlin took it, a sorcerer who could go onto much bigger ambitions, chose to serve…_

_Him._

_Putting up with all the physical abuse, allowing the punishing boring hours sometimes of drudgery work._

_Why?_

_It pierced the silence, ripped through his thoughts, another strangled moan, a row of uncontrollable coughs. Arthur's other hand actually soothed at the blue enclosed shoulder. Past his lips came the most hidden hush of quiet, nearly gentle. And yet nothing too easily revealed._

_He could tell by the servant's floundering eyes that he still had no idea what the prince's motive, intended destination was Arthur gave no answers as he asked dryly,_

"_Have you lied about it all…your inability to fight?"_

_Merlin gave a crooked smile. "Definitely not. You've seen me with a sword…though…uuuhhh….actually I'm a lot better now."_

_Yeah…like better enough to keep it from stabbing his foot. _

_Ha._

_The prince smiled a fraction with amusement._

_Merlin just came out with it. _

"_Aren't you going to kill me Sire?"_

_Wasn't he?_

_This kind of treachery, it would be more merciful to just stab him this time with no holding back and leave him here to bleed it out. _

_If ever found out in Camelot, if he told his father of Merlin's secret, the boy would first be manacled and thrown into the dungeons. There he would suffer through days and sleepless nights of painful torture with no real outcome, but the first intended one, burned at the stake. He would be forced to his knees in shameful confession at the king's throne. Hands bound at his back, he would be paraded out into the square of Camelot, pushed against the waiting trunked pillar of forest wood, ready to burn the instant the spark was lit, and yet slowly enough to be good show for those who enjoyed this sort of sickening thing. His feet would be bound to the unmoving boundary too, and yet nothing would be done to his eyes. The king wanted them to all watch as the fire licked at their vulnerable flesh. The king seemed to endure their voices horrific hollers before he turned his back and left it to what it was…punishment for treacheries._

_Arthur wondered darkly if Merlin would scream like others had, or more likely just stand there with hollow eyes and succumb to it. Merlin would probably be quiet, before the heat of the embers would force his throat to screech at the agony of his flesh ripping._

_Of course he had one other choice. One that would signal his own…_

_Flat out deceit._

_And yet keep a life._

_Moans that he couldn't hold back were coming out of the boy's mouth. The bleeding was still flowing too freely. He could keep pressing. Never give up. Keep the boy ali-_

_Or…_

_Arthur pressed more, hampering the bleeding's progress, and finally answering the boy's question, at least a bit._

_Would he kill him?_

"_Not yet."_

_Merlin started to question more. Arthur put up his hand for silence, only getting it after a few mumblings. Merlin never changing, always babbling when he should shut his dumb mouth._

"_Oh and…"_

_A hollow weak question of 'yes'?' Came from the servant._

_As Arthur contained the bleeding. Should have just killed him._

_Heart's instinct was too strong though, superior over the brain's, for the moment at least._

"_You were wrong."_

_The words were incredible where they came from, but they were the truth. Implicit trust given doesn't end that easily. And Arthur simply was no fool when it came to giving that kind of…_

_Trust._

"_I don't hate you Merlin."_

"Did you hear me Sire?

When do you plan to see her?"

Arthur drifted out of the memory, his servant's insistent prattling loudly cutting through. In that cave not pondering his decision too deeply nor understanding it, always more a man of action, Arthur did press the material down with as much care as needed. He kept it there strongly until most the bleeding was squelched. Then he had assisted his servant to rest against the cold ground, as he sat by with watching…

Confused eyes.

What would his next move be?

Would he reveal his servant's secret?

Only time would answer those questions. But let it be said. In that cave, the victor was…

The heart.

"That is none of your concern…Merlin."

Arthur recalled now a more recent memory, and yet equally painful. He loved her so much, just like he cared for his servant more than he would admit outwardly. He had rushed into Gaius's room of healing to be with her, to hold her close and…

There he was again. Lancelot. Arthur didn't hate him, but he hated what he signified.

Everything crashed then, fell apart, like he supposed his body gave up too that day, leading to his collapse. That was when the blackness took over, just seconds before the ugly dreams crept in, wouldn't leave him alone.

Just last night another, leading to dampened skin, sheets, horribly hot, horribly…

If that was what the fire had felt like for her…

She must have been…

In

Hell.

A Hell he allowed her to…

Drown in.

Merlin watched as Arthur closed his eyes heavily. His tiredness, unhappiness was still so prevalent, and yet too he was so ready to go to his duty.

This wasn't right though. He should have spoken to her, but Merlin mused now he probably should have warned him too that Lancelot had yet to leave. He wondered now if the prince had spotted him and that was when everything…

Demolished.

Merlin considered Lancelot a good friend, but there was so much tension now between the man and the prince, all about her of course. He saw it start during their rescue of her from Hengist. It was sad to watch because before the two men had been such solid friends.

Now.

Ah.

She was a servant just like Merlin, and maybe like Merlin, not magically of course, but by some inner strength, some trick of character, she was destined to be more. Merlin could see a future with her as queen, regal, strong, and yet compassionate, kind, and beyond, not quite easy to predict.

"You need to talk to her."

He confessed now what he probably should have stated in the first place. Sure Arthur was upset, but he didn't know it all. He seemed to think she didn't care and yet she did greatly. Merlin had felt from her the deep concern when he told her that Arthur was hurt from the quake.

"She's asked about you. I told her what happened…

I told her you were injured."

Slowly the prince opened his eyes, saw the blaze of the sun outside his window, felt it slap at his cracked pupils with fiery determination that forced him to look elsewhere. "You shouldn't have."

His injuries had not been even close to hers in severity. She suffered through burns. She slept an entire night that he begged her to just live. _His Guinevere_…to feel the heat of her lips, to be touched by her thick surrounding fingers, to fall into her eyes of midnight mystery…to…

Arthur yearned to press against her, ached to find her presence, suffered to taste the delicacies of her skin.

And yet…

_He_ still was there, came back regularly, stubbornly wouldn't leave her side, tended to her illness.

And in quarters around castle corners he had his own who his father expected him to give…

Vows to.

_To…_

He knew Merlin's secret. Merlin knew _his_.

The servant was a bumbling idiot.

A loyal needed friend.

Of course he told her…

Of course his servant shouldn't have.

A voice interrupted. It leaked with sugar's sweetness. It was the voice of who he held tight to during the shaking of the earth, the voice he used to pretend this ugly fallacy.

The woman wrapped in blue layers of royalty rushed happily to the prince. It was all so much façade. It was all tricks of a forced upon destiny. And yet still he accepted her embrace, her kiss.

As his heart gave no real lift, no excitement.

Merlin watched the dullness of the man's eyes.

Dwelling into hell.

For that's all lies ever lead to.

**III**

_**Two Weeks after the Quake…**_

_Selfish desires still reign supreme. Secrets continue. Fear turns to decisions without any conscientious thought. Jealous fires burn._

_Pierced hearts trickle away…_

_Their existence._

It was still there from time to time, a shock of seconding shudders, the earth not quite steady. They were growing lesser though at least, and of less magnificence. As another one hit now, he ignored it.

Spotting _something_ more important across the way.

It was the end of a less than happy ceremony, a memorial of remembrance. It lay many feet away from the castle's courtyard, beyond into the heavily canopied forests. The markings of each grave were simple, rustic, made for the poor, for the…

Too easily forgotten, as new ones had already taken their place.

Those of royal blood that perished always had a stone put up of heavy decoration, a cross of medieval remembrance, and a plot much nearer to the castle.

These though were of the servants, the help, the anti of noble, at least in Kings' eyes.

He wasn't sure he saw it so easily, even if he was of the highest noble birth, the royal heir. These people that lay here had helped run the castle. They kept it clean, smelling fragrantly of finely cooked food, and made sure that all the rich lived in luxury.

There had to be importance to that, yes?

The ceremony was fully over. Only one remained, one who stumbled against a marker as she weakly came close to losing her footing.

He ran, raced even with a leg that two weeks ago had been harshly fractured. His boots thundered over the uneven dirt land of the forest understory. His chainmail whipped against his back, his red tunic just fractionally visible underneath. His golden strands of hair lifted more from his motion than the slight wind, too warm to carry far. The day had little breezes, stagnantly humid with thin dirty clouds of only one purpose, trapping the heat closer to the bruised earth.

In seconds he was at her side, his hand roughly, protectively, clasping her arm.

She was stunned by the suddenness of it. After all had left, even Merlin, she had quietly stayed. It had been a simple service, tended to by only one priest, the most vital prayers already having been bestowed that awful night.

This had been the last send off, the final goodbye to all their dear friends, those they had worked alongside. Twenty three servants had perished that night, twenty three lives lost, twenty three souls floating above them now.

She had been kneeling at the grave of the woman who so kindly greeted her those first days, who boisterously welcomed her to the fold of Camelot's crew of help.

Weak from emotion as much as physical strength only beginning to return, she leaned against the hand that held at her now.

Sweet Lancelot had been with her since this all started. He was so dear.

"Lance-

He held firmer at her arm, brought his face into her view, a half scowl lining his flat unsatisfied mouth. That name grated on his patience. The man had another home after all, didn't he?

It was the eyes. The only thing necessitated. Brighter blue than the murky skies above, but piercing with unhappiness.

"Milord?"

He felt a rare excitement in his heart at finally the voice he had begged to whisper to his ear that horrific night, elicited…_his name_, even if by protocol. This was the woman who should have been at his side when the earth began rumbling. These ringlets of ebony should have been against his chest as he comforted. These small thicker fingers should have been clasped into his longer ones.

She looked up to see a glimmering spark in his eyes before it faded. It was so odd now to be against him, wonderfully odd. Since that night, she had only seen him in passing a few times, amongst royal beings who would allow no intimacy.

_Her voice_, but that _awful _protocol. He just wanted to hear his name on the tip of her lips, his _given_ one. He wanted all this distance to end and just…

Aw this horrible weather, for days now just unchanging clouded heat. It was like living in Purgatory.

The dizziness invaded now, as it sometimes since the fire still made her feel unsteady. Her arm had been solidly burned. It was in a wrapping splint. Her legs were days away from carrying her without bits of stumbling. Sometimes her breath shook just like the earth did.

His hold was fierce, perhaps just a bit too pressing. He seemed so insistent, so needing of something, and yet what did he expect her to give?

Lancelot's hold was often gentler.

_Softer than this_.

Arthur frowned heavily. It seemed she had nearly fallen again. This was wrong. He knew she was back at work already, his father not having given her the time that should be respected for recovery. She had to be so tired…

She shocked as he seemed to be lowering one hand, finding the backs of her legs. She protested at it right away, moving further so his fingers could only fall, rejected.

He grimaced at that. He never got the chance to hold her…not that night. Not now. She should have been in his arms!

She looked up to his watching eyes, the blue drills that hardened his pupils.

Protocol must never be forgotten.

She looked away, held at the skirts of her turquoise dress, started to bow just a fraction. He should be noticed for the royalty he was.

It satisfied him even less as he grabbed impatiently at her arm. Belatedly he realized his folly, her tiny cry deafening his ears.

Fiercely he let go, more furious with himself than anything.

_Nothing_ felt right. The weather was too hot, too uncomfortable. Finding her at a gravesite, _what could be more morbid?_ That splint on her arm was like a barrier, hissing _don't touch_. His body was heavily sweating under all the chainmail and double layered tunic. Trickles of his own existence irritating his unhappy skin.

She wasn't hurt too bad, his hand having left her arm fast enough, but there still was no peace.

The heat of the pushed away sun felt too much like dull flames. Heaven was lost.

Hell laughing with delight.

The air felt wrong, but as his distance remained, she noticed his own deepest injury perhaps.

She took a step forward, the soft patters of her shoes not at all hard enough to kill the encroaching weeds that were having their fun with the forest.

Strangling its native beauty.

She ran her fingers over his hand, the cuts from the shards of rock that had ripped through his skin that night.

It stilled him, made his flesh yearn more than feel any peace.

_Ugly burning._

She thought how it had to have been painful for him.

And yet Merlin made plain he ignored it, more set on finding…

Her.

Only she had _already_ been found.

Recalling a kiss now just hours ago against her lips, she let her fingers fall away.

Unhappily he sighed at their sudden unwelcome departure.

His skin screamed betrayal.

She thought of it, how _he_ visited, unlike her…

Prince.

His kiss, Lancelot's, was warm and wanted and yet…

Something always managed to seep out.

Some _trickle_ plagued.

The prince felt like he was bound by thorns placed there to force the bleeding. He wanted to apologize for his father's insistence that she return to her work earlier than she was ready. He wanted to tell her he thought it unfair. He wanted to be gentle like she needed. He wanted to confess he visited her that night, that he loved her and only her, that…

His lips needed hers. His body yearned for hers in unheavenly fires. His soul couldn't take any more of sugar's sweetness. He wanted to press against-

FIE

Nothing right came out of his mouth, only too polite platitudes of unimportant directionless conversation.

"I guess I missed the service."

Love's new dwelling snickered at how fear was reigning supreme, making anger easily just a trace behind.

His words startled, but only for a moment. There was no way he could have planned to attend. The service had been presented by the help, not meant for royalty. Lancelot had been there, before she gently sent him on his way, knowing he had work he had to tend to. Merlin had been there too of course, but…

Well Arthur was of a _different_ world.

"You planned to come?"

He closed his eyes for one short moment. Her voice caressing his ears before the dry hot wind irritated, her voice filled with responsibility and gentleness. It was deeper than that of most women, and yet still a bird's most solemn song. It was unique. It was _her._

He stumbled on his words, emotional, holding back, tied to some invisible barrier that laughed at his feebleness.

"No…I mean…well I wanted to see her. Pay my last respects to…

_Adelaide_."

His voice tremored unhappily with that name. She understood it well as the marker she had just kneeled to carried it. All the lives she grieved, but perhaps hers she grieved the most, alongside the too young Stella.

Making up her mind without even pondering it much, she reached for his hand, the cut one. She led him forward, pointed.

"This is Stella. She was only a few years older than me when I first started."

He listened heavily. She had more control than him often, but now her voice was growing more fragile by the second.

She asked him dully. "Do you know how many were lost Milord?"

Slowly he nodded. "Yes…23."

It warmed her heart just a fraction that he answered without question, knew the exact amount. She wondered idly if it was the same for the king. Probably not. She doubted her own life would have meant much to the man.

"She had only been here for days…Stella. I gave her my apron to wear so she wouldn't anger her mistress with a dirtied dress."

Arthur lifted his face to the murky skies, the harsh light of the battling sun. So white, so glaring that it pained his eyes. He couldn't look at her now though. Cowardly, he could only listen, knowing the help had suffered too horribly, guilty in that he hadn't reached her first.

Not a single noble had died in the quake, only the poor, only those who had the lowest, and yet possibly most important jobs.

Gwen went on, her voice raspy, struggling against emotion.

"Both dresses are ruined now though. They do not matter anymore.

Only the memories of those who…"

The words crumbled.

"_Guinevere…" _

A hoarse whisper, making her tremble. It was always only he who called her that regularly, he who turned it into something she never thought it could be, made it…

Beautiful.

She turned, dark eyes threatened by an emotion too smothering now. She could feel it all again, the flames, the agony of the deaths all around her, the…

As finally he lowered his own, his blue cutting through the midnight.

_Quakes inside a body._

_Tremoring through two._

The heat was still too strong. The wind was mercilessly gone one minute, whipping with hot smoldering shots of aggravation the next.

Nothing was going to be resolved, was it?

_Not while love dwelled in hell anyway._

Still he pushed his hand out, lifted sweating fingers to her cheek, their wetness dripping like violations of hot wax over her unsettled skin.

She looked up, the blues leading her to only dizziness now. Weakly she leaned into him, needing some relief, some…

"Stella…Adelaide…

I just pray they weren't too…

_Terrified._"

That was it. All he needed. Nodding barely, he clasped the back of her falling head with greedy fingers, forcefully brought her face to his chest.

Peace was nowhere near to help. He could only feebly whisper it. Recalling how it felt that night, not being able to find her for too many cruel moments. That charcoaled kitchen taunting him that she was de-

His voice came out chilled, to the deepest fear.

"For one ugly sick moment…

_I thought I'd lost-_.

He couldn't go on. He felt as desperate as he had two weeks ago when screaming out her name and getting no heavenly answer. It was always in those sweating nightmares, that macabre kitchen scene, the lavender finally appearing…

Ravaged by flames.

Her…

_Enflamed_.

It made him shiver involuntarily.

She closed her eyes, pressed harder against the chainmail that trapped his tunic against his body. It scraped her vulnerable skin, but it was nothing like the flames that had torn at her flesh that night. Nothing could compete with that vile abuse.

Suddenly she felt the shaking of his body though, one sharp jolt.

She lifted her face a touch. His head was pressed hard against her shoulder, blocked. He wouldn't look at her. She gave it up, thinking maybe it was just a momentary false feeling.

His eyes stayed shut tight, tight enough to make his lids ache, but maybe that was just punishment. With ravage, his fingers moved into her ringlets, violently they held. He couldn't let her go, couldn't lessen his grip no matter how fierce it may be to her. _Just_…he needed her alive, breathing, speaking…just…_don't let the dreams come true_. Don't let my failure take you away from me. _Please._

He wanted to dig deep inside her. Climb past every barrier of skin. Push away the earth, every intrusion of nature. He wanted to get to somewhere Lancelot would never reach. Possessively he wanted to hide her away somewhere with no finding, not even disaster. Keep her safe.

Keep her…

_His_.

All his touch was roughened, his royal skin scarred and hardened from battles of bloody proportions. There was nothing soft or gentle in him now, but there was little that was at peace in her anyway. Her dreams were often stained lately. She finally understood what her mistress had suffered through, for since the fire, her nights were restless, her sleep plagued by groans of the dying, by the feel of her own self enflamed.

He could feel it, how purgatory dwelled deep inside her, as too it slithered through his vitals. His lips needed some hydrating taste, _something_. He pressed them against her forehead. That night all her skin had been blackened, soiled by soot. It covered her from head to toe. He had wanted to grab her away from Lancelot, clean her with his own hands.

_Heal_ her.

Vainly making himself into some saver, hero, when he knew viciously he was not even close to one that night. He should have fled that table, should have raced down the steps. Reached her first. Get his prize.

_Sick_ to think that. But she was his…_all his_.

Had to be. He couldn't…couldn't bear her not being. Holding her was finally supposed to be salvation but he guilted at how roughly he was doing it. She wasn't close enough. The sun and wind were mocking them, causing the horrible sweat, making him want to be stripped down to nothing, and feel her the same.

_Making…_

Her head was lifting past his lips.

It made him frown as he realized _it_ now, berating his stupidity, his selfishness. She had been pressed too hard against his chainmail. Scrapes lined her cheek. He reached out to tender them away. He had to find some calm, had to. He'd take care of her. He'd wipe away all those ugly scrapes. With gentle fingers he'd remove all her injury. He'd stop thinking about himself and start thinking about h-

"_Arthur…Arthur…are you out here?"_

The chainmail's scratches were _nothing_. Her skin could take it. She shuddered though at the voice. It was of a woman, a tall golden haired woman so perfectly matched for him.

He shuddered too, his heart literally rocking.

_No. Not now. Go away. Hate me. I hate myself. Just leave us alone. _

_I know that has not an inch of gallantry._

_I don't care._

_I'm desperate._

_I need her._

_I need to be with her._

_So just…_

_GO AWAY._

He refused to let go, held her even tighter, forgetting his promise of looking out for her first.

_All what he wanted._

Guinevere frowned with misunderstanding.

_What was he thinking? Why was he not letting her go?_

"Come on." He pulled her even more against him, wanting to go to where the woods grew thicker, where they hid _forbidden_ acts. He had no choice anyway. The calling of his name forced it.

It was the _wrong_ voice again. It was the wrong woman's form. It was…

"Come with me Guinevere…away from here. Away from her. From them.

From _everything_."

She stared at him like he was insane. Where could his destination be? None would be far enough. He had duties and so did she. Always they were expected in their rightful place. Any person (other than the understanding Merlin and Gaius) seeing even a glimpse of their looks to each other would scream out treachery, would lead to her being shackled for the most heinous crime…

He kept insisting, before seeing it, the fear in her eyes as some unpleasant thought formed. It made him want it even _more_. There was no Lancelot now, only him, the man who was meant to be with her. He didn't care if that sounded viciously possessive. It was how he _felt_, feverishly dominant. She was his…

All his…

"_Arthur…are you there?"_

His hands pulled forcibly, but in his eyes was the pleads of a beggar, desperately insisting. He knew now he would fall to his knees if needed. He would kiss her fingertips til they were fully drenched in his love. He would do anything, lay down upon a blade, just, _hell was too close_. All this pretending was the most vile existence. He hated it. He needed…needed…

"_Please Guinevere…" _

His throat choked. His eyes filled with terror that she would say no.

And the earth rocked.

Unholy.

In his ravaged face she saw the unhidden ache, _raw_, exposed to her fully. It matched her own. The earth began to shake, just one tiny jolt, but enough to make her rush to his arms, to need his hold. To not care what was expected, what the protocol was, what the…

To whisper…

Even as hell snickered.

_I'm not done._

Even as love scraped at the burning fire tongued walls with no hint of success.

"_Yes."_

**III**

To be continued…

Thanks for reading/feedback adored.

Author's note: This was supposed to be the last part, but I actually have more written past this including the details of the fire. I just can't rush this middle section of the story so please bear with me as I continue with it. A good thing, my writing vibe is totally there and it's flowing pretty fast, plus I do have some written past what I posted here, just needs heavy editing. I love writing this story, how it's evolved to more than I even planned, and I hope you are equally enjoying it.

Next time: more Arthur/Gwen definitely (I know I left you with a cliff-hanger here, it will be followed through), but Lancelot and Ysmay too…and of course…hee…Merlin

Oh and yes I made up some words/changed the context. It's a little thing I do when I write sometimes/try to keep it down though to not make it interfere with the flow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** _Love's Second Cycle-Bleed_

**Rating:** PG13

**Characters of Second Cycle:** Arthur, Gwen, Merlin, Lancelot, Ysmay (original) and minor others (this cycle centers heavily on Arthur)

**Spoilers:** Season 1&2, not beyond. This story is in the Merlin timeframe, before, and a few years beyond

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim. Merlin is the property of the BBC/Shine.

**Written for:** Camelot_love' s 14 days of love. The story as a whole uses multiple prompts and contains 3 cycles. All the cycles use this quote prompted by jeyla4ever.

**M-8:** _**"Love is a friend, a fire, a hell,**_

_**Where pleasure, pain and repentance dwell."**_

**~Richard Barnfield**

**Warning:** The fire is written into this one. Scenes of terror and death

**Reminder:** This part takes place two weeks after the quake.

**III**

_Special note: Thank you readers. _

**III**

_**Love's Second Cycle: Bleed (Part IV)**_

"_**Love is a friend, a fire, a hell…**_

_**Where pleasure pain and repentance dwell.**_

**~Richard Barnfield**

**III**

"_**My love…in the darkness shine**_

_**My love…and you're not mine**_

_**My love…in silence so long**_

_**My love…no promise no more…"**_

**~The Veils**

**III**

_**Love is a hell…**_

_**When its destiny is…**_

_**To not be fulfilled…**_

_**But to burn.**_

**III**

With the load set up by the wash bins and board, the young man proceeded with his cleaning. It was the past few days' pile of clothes he was working on, all of them dirtied from practice and forages out into the forest. Lately the prince had been on trips away from Camelot a lot.

Merlin had a mild guess what he was avoiding.

Lifting his blue eyes, the servant blinked at the sun's blaze through the muddy clouds. This kind of muggy, hot, dirty-skies weather had been going on now for days, pretty much since the quake. He was sick of it as he knew too was the prince and probably all of Camelot. It wasn't just irritating, but also brought up fears of another strong shaking, beyond just the sporadic mini tremblers that jolted nerves each time they hit.

The one positive, the warmly uncomfortable weather made drying the wash an easier task. All Merlin had to do the past weeks was lay out the wet clothes against the hot stone and in hours or less, it was no longer dripping.

Of course his skin was.

This kind of climate meant grossly human sweat was abundant.

Finishing the wash of one blue tunic, he pressed it down to the stone for drying. Then gathering up another dirtied shirt, he rubbed it against the board, before letting it lather into the tin bin of soapy water.

"This certainly is different than making lances…

Come to life."

Merlin raised his eyes at the voice, smiling with a touch of weariness at the man. The day had started grimly enough with a ceremony of marking for all those who had died during the quake. Merlin had attended along with Gwen and the man who stood before him now, Lancelot.

It would have felt kind of odd months ago maybe, but since the quake it was becoming customary for Lancelot to be _'hanging'_ around.

It was fine with Merlin personally. He'd always gotten on with him.

Brushing back his dark long hair in the uncomfortable heat, Lancelot moved down to the ground with a smile. "Need some help?"

Merlin shook his head as he continued washing the shirt. "No, think I'm alright with it. Arthur's been doing a lot of training and riding on treks away from the castle, sometimes for days. He comes back and unceremoniously each time unloads his dirtied wardrobe on me…

literally."

True. It was customary for Arthur to just smirk at his servant and throw the pile down…

_On his head._

Of course of late Arthur seemed to take no wry satisfaction in it.

Lancelot hung onto the first words, sitting on the smoothest area of the jagged stone across from where Merlin was working. "A lot you say? That he's been away a lot that is?"

Merlin nodded his head, not bothering to look up. "Yep."

Lancelot's smiled turned dryly unhappy. Much was troubling him lately, and yet just earlier this day he had kissed the woman he loved.

_Everything should be perfect, right?_

"Surprised you don't just clean all this…the _easy_ way." He winked with intent, trying to lighten the mood.

Merlin got the meaning, letting out a slow chuckle. 'Yeah, well, _sometimes_ I do. Arthur warns me though to not do it a lot. Sometimes I listen…

Hah…

_Sometimes I don't_."

Lancelot nodded with amusement.

But then quickly asked,

"So he knows?"

Merlin raised his eyes, putting the now washed shirt upon the stone, but Lancelot took the other side from him. Laying it down himself, he shrugged at Merlin to continue with his washing. He would do the spreading.

Merlin gave a nod of thanks and moved to the pants that were nearly black at the knees, forest debris thick on some of the regularly brown material. "Well it probably was obvious the night of the quake."

Lancelot agreed quietly and asked, "When did he find out?"

Merlin looked around hastily. If ever a conversation like this was heard by the wrong observers, it could mean so many punishments. It could have so many consequences. The area seemed clear though. A small group of training knights was across the way at the eastern side of the forest, definitely too far away to hear a word said. There were some servants and peasants milling about, but also not within hearing distance.

Lancelot waited, having wondered the answer to this question for some time now. It seemed strange that Arthur would actually _allow_ it, considering his father's strong views about magic being a sin, a horrible treachery.

Of course, Merlin had been in his employ now for years. Perhaps a bond deeper than rules against magic had formed during such time.

Keeping his voice cautiously low, Merlin met Lancelot's eyes, before bringing his head back down to rub the soapy pants against the board.

He couldn't divulge it _all_. He'd given his word.

"During the trip to defeat the second dragon. I can't give you the full circumstances. Just...we were in a situation where I had to use…_well you know_…I didn't know I was being watched.

Later I found out Arthur saw."

"And yet he spared you?"

Merlin smiled with quiet remembrance.

"Yeah…Guess he did.

_Eyes parting with painstaking slowness, he realized he was on a cave's ground. His tunic was ripped while across his chest parts of another shirt were tied strongly to stop the…_

_Bleeding?_

"_Awake now are you?"_

_Merlin blinked heavily, started to raise up on his arms, soon hearing the prince's firm warning._

"_Easy there. The wound is deep. You'll want to take it slow."_

_Merlin squinted. It was a cave, the same cave he faced the dragon in, the same one Arthur found out his secret…_

_The same one…_

_Arthur stabbed him with the sword in._

_And yet the same one, he was ALIVE in._

_Not putting too much stress on his injured area, Merlin lifted up from the ground where he had been lying, and weakly slid over to where his master was sitting in front of a dull fire, his shirt noticeably ripped, while the flames crackled listlessly. _

_He should be afraid of him. That sword was still there at Arthur's side, dug into the dirt. _

_And yet…_

"_Why didn't you kill me Arthur?"_

_Not looking up, the prince dryly uttered. "I still can._

_Who said I won't?"_

_Merlin didn't say anything, but gasped a little as he moved forward too fast, sending a shot of pain to his chest._

"_I thought I told you to be careful." He heard Arthur hiss sharply. _

_The prince would barely look at him and yet he had checked for his welfare. He had kept him alive. _

_Maybe musing on some of the same things, Arthur started to rail loudly. "You know what my father will do when we get back, and he is told what you are, right Merlin? What were you THINKING? Staying in Camelot? When we traveled to Ealdor why didn't you just stay?"_

_Merlin watched as the prince angrily poked at the fire with a stick, before thrusting it in with a snapping of his jaw. _

"_I wondered if I should at first. I wanted to if my mother needed me, but she…she told me she would be fine. Not to stay. She said we…you and I were like two sides of the same coin. Someone else has said that to me before too. I may not have liked it at first, but it is my destiny to serve you Arthur. Yours to become king one day."_

_He watched as the prince lowered his head raggedly, no comment forming on his lips. With a wearied sigh, Merlin continued. _

"_I told you my biggest fear about all this…_

_Well other than dying."_

_Merlin added the last part dryly._

_Arthur let out a spontaneous laugh, before forcing it down._

_Merlin went on more. "Yet you said you didn't hate me. That's the last thing I remember before…it starting to get a little darker. I fell asleep?"_

"_Yes."_

_Merlin frowned. Arthur seemed to be battling inwardly, troubled. _

_The fire let out little whispers through the quiet. _

_The prince broke through the dominant silence, his voice raw and honest._

"_From the moment I could understand the acts of punishment Merlin, I saw what my father did to those who practice magic. I grew up believing it had no good in it. I have watched executions, burnings at the stake, until it made my own flesh crawl to hear the ripping, to see the head…_

_Roll."_

_Merlin shivered as the prince raised his head, eyes forcefully foreboding._

"_You would not be spared if he found out Merlin. You would be executed. He would show absolutely no leniency no matter what you've done to serve me. _

_Never doubt that."_

_The servant's eyes met the master's with grim acknowledgement. _

"_You would be tortured before you would be made to confess, and then killed in the most laborious way, displayed before the whole kingdom, until it all made you scream. Until you breathed your last._

_Until you disintegrated into ash."_

_The words made Merlin shiver, but his only mention was acknowledgement. He had already guessed as much. The king despised sorcery._

"_I know that Sire."_

"_The merciful thing to do then is stab you now."_

_Merlin's breath hung. _

_Arthur let out what sounded like a pent up sigh._

"_And yet I can't."_

_Merlin looked up with wonder._

_Arthur turned away, eyes heavily returned to the fire. "I didn't miss just because your words about hate. It never felt right. I knew that blade wasn't going to do what it was supposed to._

_I knew I couldn't…_

_Kill you Merlin."_

_Arthur had another stick. This one he let just drop in the fire. Defeated. Merlin watched it, spoke quietly, but with the rawest truth of his own._

"_I will never betray you Arthur. I swear."_

_The prince looked up at the ceiling of the cave. His study of the raw cracks above them was intense. Never ending. And yet through it he spoke._

"_For some odd unfathomable reason I believe you."_

_Merlin whispered it,_

"_So what now?"_

_A wry smile hit the prince's face as he shook his head. "Good question."_

_Dryly, Merlin asked. _

"_Uh…have an answer?"_

"_No."_

It was that simple…

And _that_ complicated.

Merlin didn't muse on it anymore now though as he finished with the pants. Soon enough Lancelot assisted him in putting them out to dry.

Turning to the remaining clothes, Merlin spoke carefully. He got on with Lancelot perfectly when he first met him. With Arthur it definitely took more time, considering how much they had clashed in the beginning. Years past now though, Merlin served Arthur faithfully, actually liked him when he _wasn't being a prat_, and most importantly, respected the man.

_Perhaps that was a closer bond?_ He wasn't sure. He just knew it was becoming truer every single day. They _indeed_ were like two sides of the same coin. And right now the other side…

_Was dented_.

"I'm glad you were there Lancelot, you know the night of the quake. I know Gwen is entirely grateful. Just uh…"

Lancelot heard the words hang. As Merlin moved to the last few garments, he finished his friend's thought.

"Just…what do I plan to do? _Why am I always around?"_

Merlin smiled mildly, scrubbing at the slightly frayed inner tunic. "I don't really mind it. You know I like having you around."

"But _he_ does…mind?"

Merlin shrugged, focused on the tunic of his master, his…

_Friend_.

Who spared his life.

"He has feelings for her. I know you do too, but, I guess this whole situation is just kind of uncomfortable. He wants to…"

Lancelot's jaw tensed. Months ago he would have been gone in a few days. Everything had changed though the minute he felt her barely breathing against his chest, seeing her actually starting to burn. _That _had sent a nightmare through his heart.

"He didn't save her Merlin. She would have died if…"

Lancelot sighed raggedly. There was just _one_ truth in all of this, maybe a not totally fair one, but so be it.

"He _didn't_ protect her."

Hearing the strong disapproval in that one word, Merlin lifted his head. His usually mild mannered friend's expression was surprisingly fierce, focused on one thing.

One person.

What Arthur couldn't do, solely.

Merlin had once thought the prince was spoiled and had the best of lives. Over the years he had quickly learned, with all that royalty, joining all those riches…

Was the agony of obligation.

"He _tried_, Lancelot. He wanted to go to her. It killed him that he couldn't. He _wanted_ to save her."

The other intoned darkly.

"But he _didn't_."

A dry brutal wind rushed through…

Hell's satisfactory laughter.

**III**

"_Please Guinevere…"_

"_Yes…"_

It was those words like heaven to his ears that set this up. Albeit nothing was heavenly in the way they rushed hard to get there. Peace had no part in their escape. It didn't seem to matter. Joined they ran.

Hands so tight, fingers so locked, the sweat seeped through to aggravate.

Chainmail rustled against the soft silk folds of her not so peasant ocean washed dress. It had enough sweet beauty, the material lent from her lost mistress that it betrayed the usual look of those who served the castle. If any looked simpler it was him with just the locks of metal over the loosely shaped worn dulling red tunic.

Their shoes stamped down on the weeds that still found their way through, living in the most evil unwelcome way.

Together they sinned.

Galloped away from their life of ordinary expectation and moral rule.

They broke the laws of their kingdom…

_Like wicked lovers_.

They seemed so in synch, and yet through it all, the _perfect_ connection, were the questions that hell thrust at them.

It didn't take long for her to understand his planned destination.

_Of course…_

It would be there.

Even with the past months of their separation, his _relationship_ forming with the Lady Ysmay, he hadn't forgotten.

As they passed through the playful canopies of trees, a drizzling of remembrances flooded her mind.

"_Don't mock. It's not nice. I'll learn it."_

"_You're right there…you will. Because I'm going to show you how to keep it from dropping when you get ready to swing…"_

…

"_You DID it Guinevere!"_

"_Bloody Yes!"_

They had been just ingenuous children then, not yet having to be so mindful of protocol and severe expectation. Hidden away, he had taught her how to swing a sword that she shared with him was one of her father's finest, secretly borrowed Gleeful laughter had rang out during their training sessions, wild youthful abandon echoing privately behind the tall peaking, heavily foiled pines. Those days of _innocent_ childhood, the sky had seemed so majestically far, embracing their fun with lightness.

_Now_ the humid clouds felt too disgustingly close. The uneasy silence was only occasionally interrupted by the too dry screeching breezes.

She could see a flickering spark in his blue eyes, telling her that he wanted to _pretend_, to play at the game of finding childhood again, but this time deliver to it a little bit of adult naughtiness.

She had no issue with that, other than the sobering knowledge of that it could _never _last.

Years had changed what happened before.

A sum of just two weeks had altered much.

To appease, maybe to _pretend_ herself, she attempted a quiet wondering smile, before the hot drifts of wind blew it away. They choked at her throat, bringing uncomfortable screeching images, and reminding her solidly of her still healing injuries. The run had been fast, desperate. Her body was still physically weak no matter how much she outwardly protested she was fine and able.

Hearing her breathing so heavy now, feeling her falter a bit against him, Arthur frowned with deep concern. It was stupid of him to have made her run so much, but all he had thought of then was getting her here.

_Now…_

She needed rest.

It was so unfair once again, but servants when injured or ill rarely had the luxury of total recovery. As soon as their legs, especially, would function again, they were expected back at work, no matter how labored some of their movement might be. Perhaps that was why he hadn't allowed his own full recovery this time. He wanted to be in synch with her.

As for the destination, perhaps too it was picked for more than just its element of hiding. He wanted to _façade_ away any last time spent here, when she had insisted that any interaction beyond that of prince and handmaiden, needed to end. When she pushed him harshly into…

_The arms of another._

**III**

The words echoed ominously.

Still Merlin somewhat rejected them. "You don't understand Lancelot. He can't just go to her when he wants to without there being repercussions. He has to follow his father. He's going to be king."

Lancelot bit at his lower lip, tensely. Partly _this_ was it.

Even if he didn't want to admit it.

From the first he understood, could hold one, a sword, a lance, in his hand, he had yearned to be a _Knight of Camelot_. That had been his destiny since being a mere child. Now with all the laws of nobility, he would _never_ be one. Maybe if that destiny _could_ have been fulfilled, this restlessness wouldn't be so prevalent.

And yet maybe that was silly. Love doesn't fade because of personal ambitions achieved.

His refusal to leave entirely this time had to do with one thing…

_Her._

"What you say I understand Merlin, at least _mostly_."

Lancelot reached forward now as Merlin readied the tunic for drying. Touching at the actually thinning material, the sign of a man, no matter how noble, who did not lead an easy life, Lancelot carefully laid it down on the stone.

"But then maybe that makes my point even more so. She deserves better.

She deserves to be _safe_."

Merlin raised his head with wonder.

What exactly was Lancelot thinking…_where was he taking this?_

Lancelot sighed before sitting back down again, catching Merlin's wary look as he worked with the last two pieces of clothing. He knew there were questions forming in the sorcerer's head. Well he had his own.

This seemed to be the solution though. _Think of it._ Certainly it would take away the temptation. He could live that…_kingly_ life while she…

"Maybe it's time for something new for her.

_And me_."

Merlin protested weakly.

Two of them loved her.

But _two_ of them could never have her.

_Someone_ was going to lose this fight.

One of his friends…

Would be left with a hole in their heart.

"Lancelot, I know how you feel about her, but he also has f-

"_MERLIN."_

The servant looked up with alarm, seeing a woman standing there with royal command. Quickly he rose to his feet, showing strong respect. Lancelot too displayed the same, a knight all the way even if he _technically_ could not be one.

"Lady Ysmay?"

Merlin asked with a little less surprise than he had first reacted, though he wondered if she had heard any of the conversation. He doubted it mostly. They hadn't been talking that loudly.

Pushing back at the folds of her golden hair, Ysmay coolly responded to the servant of her _intended_. "I have been looking for Arthur. Have you seen him?"

Lancelot exchanged a quick look with Merlin.

"No. I believe he is away, another trek through the forest."

Ysmay showed unhappiness at the predictable answer. He was _always_ away these days. "_Oh_…I don't understand it. He is rarely around anymore. Ever since that horrible shaking of the earth, I _barely_ ever see him. When he returns tell him I wish to meet with him in my quarters. Do _not_ forget. Understood, Merlin?"

"Yes…of course." Merlin bowed, keeping his eyes down. It was protocol to not be so forward.

Turning on her heel, Ysmay left with an angry huff of air, not even bothering to acknowledge Lancelot.

Slowly Merlin sat back down, continuing his work, even as he felt Lancelot's eyes starkly on him.

"He can't have _both._"

Merlin scrubbed furiously at the jacket. "He knows that."

"You say he cares so much for Gwen and yet…what about _her_?"

Lancelot gestured behind, referring to the regal, unhappy woman who had just interrupted them. "She doesn't matter to him _at all_? He just _uses _her?"

Merlin sighed raggedly. Where would any completion from this come…if ever?

_When were hell's games going to end?_

"She matters, but it's _complicated_ Lancelot. His father wouldn't allow…"

Merlin's words drifted off. It seemed like a _boy's_ immature decision stated _that_ way. It wasn't so simple in reality.

"Seems his choice is clear then."

Merlin said nothing.

The battle was _begun_.

The quake hadn't just shaken up the earth and their physical bodies…

_But their heaven forgotten souls._

**III**

She was confused. Uncomfortable. Too much was mixed in with the sweeter recall, spinning ugly ones of just months ago. A night she broke his heart…

And perhaps her own.

"_Finally you're here…_

_It must have been as hard for you to get out as for me, yes? Well no matter. Now we're here together and can-_

"_Arthur. Wait."_

"_Guinevere…no more words. Come here."_

"_No. I cannot. You cannot either. You must do what is right. _

_You must…_

_Make your father happy._

_Be with who is right._

_Ysmay."_

"Are you feeling dizzy again?"

She tumbled away from the painful memory, met his concerned eyes.

His hold was tight, but gentler than it had been closer to the castle, on purpose actually. She seemed uncertain. Not feeling well.

"Let's sit." Guiding her hand down with his, Arthur assisted Gwen to rest beside him on a familiar fallen log, rotting more heavily now in some spots. Perhaps someday it would rot completely away…

And be gone.

She didn't have the strength to fight him, plus even with the ugly sweat still managing to creep through, the touch of his fingers locked around hers brought _mild_ comfort.

She didn't understand it entirely. Even behind the canopy of trees, _nothing_ felt settled. It was his _fantasy_, built with façade that they would walk out of here hand in hand, renewed, one she didn't entirely believe in, and yet she hid away too in the _make-believe_.

As meanwhile the leaves harshly rustled with hell's indulgence.

When children they hadn't dared sit close, but as adults with his recently recovered wounds and her still lingering ones, the closeness felt warranted. It was a nursing of hurts, both inner as much as outer.

It was such a bit of relief that she actually rested some against his shoulder, leaning on it just a fraction.

Arthur relieved in that his temper didn't feel as enflamed here. His anxiety too was not as thick as it had been when they were out in the open.

This was their _sanctuary,_ unfortunately though still plagued by those haunting reminisces of the last time they had been here.

"_What do you mean?"_

"_We know this can never be Arthur. And I know you have feelings for her."_

"_No…I…"_

"_You kissed her."_

"_To get you to react._

_To want just me."_

He pushed it away urgently, ugly recalls that never should have happened here. This place was supposed to be their hidden destination, their _bliss_ where all that outside interference never got in.

And yet they had allowed it to _slither_ through that night.

He allowed her then to play the part of a liar.

He couldn't blame her though. He was as much to fault as her. She felt she had no choice for each and every decision would lead to some form of consequence.

He had a choice _now_ though, right? She did too.

They picked her way then. He agreed to it with horrible reluctance, but he lived by it. Now that it vagrantly wasn't working, he wanted to convince her to do it…

_His way._

Yet one thing plagued even _beyond_ that.

It was the other reason he had wanted to take her to a place where she could feel safe. Since seeing her in Lancelot's arms that horrible night, alive, but so still, so dirtied, so ravaged, he had begged inwardly the _answer_ to this question.

Reaching down to trace his fingers over hers and to grasp them just a soft bit, he asked,

"What happened?"

She turned, faced him, glancing down at his hand so tenderly over hers, before she responded.

"When?"

It was a hollow question. She knew…_the when_.

"The night of the quake. I've thought of it so much since that evening." He didn't reveal the dark dreams where she died before his arms could reach far enough. "I just need to hear from you what it was like to be in that kitchen.

I searched all over and I—_we-_

His voice broke off painfully. The ugly dreams tangled into his heart, making him _feeble_.

She touched caringly at his cheek, feeling the hot sweat trickling down his skin. "You looked for me? You were worried?"

His soul drummed, stuck in hell's tangling thorns that kept ripping tiny tears into his being. "Yes…_of course_. I just-

He hated himself still for not being able to reach her in time. He hated himself for selfishly wanting to be the first person to find her, instead of just being grateful that she _was_ alive…

Sitting beside him now.

Reaching forward, he made his move.

_Damn all the usual obligation_.

They were already suffering through _hell_ anyway, right? Might as well _steal _away every chance.

_Rob_ like hell beckoned. Sin vagrantly.

Fiercely his fingers dug into her curls of hair. Strongly his eyes stared into hers. With shaking, his arms pushed against her shoulders.

"I wanted to go to you as soon as it started. You've been pushing me away all these months, since the first one of the year, and I know why, but…

_My God Guinevere…_

_I_…"

He didn't finish speaking, just pushed his lips against hers. Forcing at her mouth to open, he _invaded_ her space. Selfishly he needed this and so she had to…

_Also._

She moaned in pain, but still allowed it. It hurt to do this because it never found a road that opened to any solution. It always weaved into the ugliest jarring blades.

He kissed her with no joy, only ache trying to find its peace, its ailment, its comfort. Bruisingly he took her lips with his. Sought between the tangling of their tongues to find some cool relief.

It came though, her weakened murmur.

"_Ar—thur…"_

Hearing it, feeling it rock at his already inflicted heart, he ceased his strong indulgence.

_Put her first_.

Gently he let her go.

She felt his tight hold lessen. As he backed away, she saw it, how his lips were as wet as hers felt.

_Her intimate moisture. Locked with his._

Arthur searched her dark midnight eyes. They were wearied and holding to so many troubles and vicious memories. He had kissed her hard, but now he just wanted to lessen her load. As much as it was built up into his need to hear, _it was to give her tender release_.

"Just tell me what happened."

She said nothing, frowning with unease.

He went on.

"I know you went through…"

His definition was not near the extent, but he would soon enough know.

"Something horrible.

Take me through it."

She started to turn away. He was asking _too_ much. He wouldn't like the answer anyway. It wasn't an easy one.

But he strongly shook his head, held firmly with his hands, not letting her get away.

"No."

_This time he'd burn alongside her._

**III**

"A delivery for you.…"

Departing the forest after finding his servant, his answers unsatisfactory, she turned around at the voice.

"Lady Ysmay."

Behind her rushed _another_ humbly dressed servant. Coolly bringing her hands to the hips of the golden weaved blue gown she was wearing, she waited impatiently. "Yes."

The young servant boy stopped at her feet, bowed low with respect.

She rolled her eyes at it before coming in with strong demand. "Enough. Give to me now what you are holding."

The boy reached into his worn satchel, handed her a roll of parchment, tightly knotted with yellow ribbon.

Noticing the color, her eyes flashed with interest.

The boy was _still_ standing there though, waiting stupidly.

Frowning deeply, Ysmay ushered him away. "Well you've delivered it. Now be gone."

The boy nearly stumbled over his boots.

Ysmay watched with little care before stepping deeper into the forest, trying not to rush.

She couldn't help though tangling her fingers into the yellow tie even before she reached her destination. Finally getting the paper loose from the colorful bind, her glass-like eyes flickered.

"_Finally."_

Searching her surroundings, she carefully made sure no one was close-by, before sinking down to the ground with no care that it soiled her lavish dress.

Fingers actually not steady, she held the parchment.

The breeze blew dry, awfully hot, irritating at what had already formed. Still she simply shrugged away the sweat that was seeping through the neckline of her dress.

Her attention was all on the words.

She read it…

_Reread…_

As hell laughed at the _fun_ predicament.

Seemed love was scarred by another…

_Evil secret._

**III**

It was still upon her wet lips, the lingering of his kiss. In his eyes was what he…

_Caringly demanded_.

She had barely even spoken to Lancelot of it, the fire, feigning poor memory. For sure it had been there at first, lapses of time forgotten.

But slowly it had returned to almost full recognition, coming to her first in screaming dreams, and then in painful tears of reminder.

_Without his help_…

She would not be here.

It wasn't the man who had _aided_ her though who insisted the story, but the one who had been _too_ far away to help.

Some of her wayward curls fell against her temple. He brought shaky fingers out to slide them away. As the task belied _giving_, it was more _self_ involved, his skin lingering within the silky _bondage_.

With his other hand, he pressed to her cheek.

"_Tell me._

_Please."_

Together they'd enter the gallows.

At least _this..._

He _could_ do.

Not be _too_ late.

She seemed reluctant so now instead of pressing a _fierce_ kiss on her _lips_, he wettened her _cheek_ with a _tender_ one.

Closing her eyes, with his lips _continually_ caressing her cheek, his face hidden by such action, and yet so _nakedly_ loving against her wanting skin, she began to recount it.

The violence.

The horror.

The death.

The scream that resonated from her own…

Lips.

"_Hurry Adelaide! Need to get dessert up there before the king sends the knights down to see what's taking you so long!"_

"_Oh shut your trap!"_

_Gwen smiled at the familiar boisterous back and forth arguing. It made her melancholy mood lighten just a little. _

_It was never easy watching him with another even if she was the one who prodded him that way._

"_Oh no!"_

_Hearing the gasp of distress, Gwen turned around to see Stella looking oddly frightened. The girl was just a bit older than Gwen had been herself when she first started her service._

"_What is the matter Stella?"_

_The girl gestured to her soiled dress, stained from a pot of gurgling pudding. _

"_Her mistress is going to be livid to have such a sullied servant during an occasion as grand as tonight's."_

_Hearing the non-helpful jibe, Gwen gave Mirabelle a chastening look before lifting her hands to the ties of her white floral embroidered apron. Moving it away from the front of her simple lavender dress, she handed it to Stella. _

"_Here…you wear mine. Your mistress will not even see the stain then. Dry your tears…there's nothing to worry about."_

_Stella's thankful smile was bright as the sun. Reaching forward she hugged Gwen enthusiastically. "Thank you so much. You are always so kind to me Gwen!"_

_Adelaide was watching. From across the way Gwen felt her linked smile. _

"_Well someone was just as nice to me…when I first started here." _

_She winked at the older woman, soon to be reaching a retiring age, when hopefully she would be able to relax some, even with her humble peasant stature. _

_With a skip in her step now, Stella returned to the pot of pudding, ready to spoon it into the bowls as it was finely finished._

_Mirabelle continued ranting. Gwen did her best to ignore it. Her relationship with the woman had been prickly ever since she had first started working in the castle and Mirabelle tricked her into cleaning the prince's room. _

_Recalling his youthful, and yet mocking expression then, that day she nearly dropped his ugly boar's head, Gwen smiled. It had been the oddest and most undesired way to meet the future king, but it hadn't been all bad. He even 'saved' her from making the same mistake again of this time entering the king's room, which certainly would have led to her immediate dismissal. Instead Arthur had led her to the solid escape route and with Adelaide's help spoiled Mirabelle's plan of getting Gwen in trouble._

_Giving one last spooning blend of the pudding she was cooking, Gwen stepped away from the stove to add some cinnamon spice for flavor. As she returned to her work counter, her thoughts wandered back to the festive room above, where the prince was celebrating his twenty-third birthday._

_This night they, he and his intended, had kissed, regally, royally, and maybe days away from engagement. _

_Who knew? _

_She had wanted this. Gwen. She told him there was no chance for them and pushed him to this destiny his father wanted, this suitable woman, but it didn't take the hurt away. It still pained her to see the two of them together. She'd find herself foolishly watching them sometimes instead of doing her labors. And within those times, catch him staring right back at her._

_That was why she had so thankfully fled here to the kitchen to do her work. It was a respite from his strong daylight blue eyes so soberly scrutinizing her every move. It was a rescue from catching them in a sudden royally cheered kiss. _

_Moving quickly back to the stove, Gwen ignored all of Mirabelle's still annoying rantings as _

_IT…_

_Began to rumble._

_Some kind of roaring. _

_Oh no, was there another dragon?_

_But then._

_It shook._

_The floor._

_Wait._

_The floor shaking?_

_The walls started pitching back and forth._

_Leading to her balance flailing. _

_She stumbled into another as they too lost their footing, stared with wonder. _

_It was no dragon._

_It was the earth actually trembling._

_With rolling tremors._

_The earth was moving!_

_Viciously._

_It set every hand to flounder at the wall, the counter, the person standing beside…_

_Whatever was most near._

_Under the forceful vibrations, the heavily used floor rattled, the wood creaking from the unimaginable stress. Thankfully it didn't give way for there was heavy stone underneath, and yet its sudden movement created no easy path._

_To Gwen's ears came the rattling sounds of metal and wood clanging against itself. She lifted her eyes to see the large cooking utensils that hung overhead being wrenched away from their iron hooks. Some of them had the sharp points of forks and blades of heavy knives. Like shining silver and dark wooded rain they rapidly came down, causing unwilling victims to screech with pain at the vicious contact. Holding her hand to her mouth, Gwen watched with sick wonder as the wounds set to bleeding for those inflicted. _

_The kitchen she worked in that was noisily and heatedly bustling during normal times, was with each quiver of the land turning into a horrid deathtrap. _

_Echoing her dark thoughts, boiling liquid reminded too how it was a threat. Gurgling and sloshing around inside heavy pots, pudding and cake batter, thick and running, rippled against the iron sides of their containers. Soon enough they escaped their tall walls with bubbling satisfaction. They burned those who did not move away hastily enough, splattering heavily over too tender skin in thick waving spatters. They raised the hollers of flesh being razed._

_It was descending to hell. The kitchen, her workplace for so many years, familiar and even though often hot at least a respite with good friends, was being abusively conjured into…_

_Purgatory._

_Somehow she knew the worst had yet to come, as screams rung out, and the unfortunate slipped upon the wet floor, littered now with sharp turned-to-weaponry objects and splatters of boiling ruined dessert smoldering in waste. The unlucky slipped upon the liquid mess to feel its heated substance char their unprotected skin, or land upon one of the jagged cooking tools that cut through tender skin._

_And yet…_

_One horror remained._

_It was almost like a cackle, that the stoves became too rattled by the quaking earth. The thick heavy wooden pillars used to flame the stoves into life rumbled and rolled against the iron doors. They rotated and revolved with ominous foreboding._

"_We have to get out of here…"_

_Gwen whispered fearfully._

_Already were stampedes at the two doors, the back and the front. She didn't dare go to the back now that led outside. Yes, the exterior air in the courtyard would be more welcome, but those stoves were about to give away. They could not hold inside the lumber used to heat them. _

_All she could see clearly enough through the chaos was Mirabelle and another nearby kitchen worker just a few years past her in age. Gwen grabbed hold of both of their wrists and gestured that they had to leave. _

_Mirabelle pulled toward the back door_

_Gwen resisted urgently. "No."_

_Mirabelle was frantic as the earth continued to rattle, making movement or even standing still treacherously hard. _

"_I want to go out the door…outside!"_

_Gwen yelled at her impatiently. _

"_No! That way is too dangerous!"_

_That was when it happened. _

_Her worst fear came true._

_One last fiendish howl and hell opened its gleeful gates. _

_The timbers of wood that had been so laboriously carried and carefully placed into each stove, hours of work, in just seconds now, rolled away from their iron prisons. _

_Attached to them, following them, echoing them fiendishly…_

"_OH MY GOD-_

_Gwen heard Mirabelle let out in terror. _

_They coursed down to the already obstacle-riddled floor. They plowed into those who were trying to escape the back way, knocking them down mercilessly._

_Gwen too stared for a painful second. The timber had been in the stoves for one reason, to create high temperature fires that could be cooked by. As they burst open the doors, with them came flaming explosions. _

_The working kitchen was turning into a pyre of no peace…_

_Just screeching macabre death._

_In horror the three of them watched as the bursts of fire quickly climbed up the walls and easily sought out victims who were just too late in vacating through the door that led to the outside. _

"_!"_

"_HELP ME!"_

"_AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH…I'M BURRRRRRRNING!"_

_Gwen's eyes watered, maybe from the sudden lack of oxygen in the room. Maybe from the horrid heat. Maybe from witnessing those she had toiled through jokes and banter alongside every day…_

_Alight with flames._

_She had been right. The back way was the most dangerous. It brought no relief though to know that she had made the correct decision, not while innocent people…_

_Breathed and…_

_Screamed._

_Tried to run._

_Turned to sickish embers._

_Even as the quake was not over, the tragedy, the nightmare seemed would be the fire. As long as she lived she would never forget what she was hearing this night, screams of the dying. _

_Of inhumanely torched bodies._

_Painfully though, she knew they couldn't wait. Staying here, they would only burn too._

_Frantically she ushered them forward to the opposite door, holding both hands tight._

"_We have to go! _

_Now!"_

_Through the hideous maze, she found the door, hoping safely that it would lead to unblocked castle hallways. If the fire burned there too…then…_

_She couldn't think that. _

_Holding on so tightly to Mirabelle and her other friend, she pulled them both and herself…_

_To safety._

_Although it was rocked by hysteria from the fire in the kitchen, and quake throughout, at least the hallway was not burning too._

_Of course it wasn't pure sanctuary. The shaking hadn't yet stilled and the long narrow hallway they had retreated to was a scene of pandemonium. Some kitchen workers were horribly injured and along with them were those who just screamed in lunatic fright._

_And beyond…_

_Were the screeches from the kitchen._

_Those who lived._

_Those who would die if no one…_

_The knights might come down, yes? But when?_

_And what if it took too long?_

_More of those screeches kept shocking her ear._

_She couldn't do it. _

_She could not wait for help of the knights. _

_There were too many precious friends who could perish. There were too many screams for that as long as she lived would haunt her sleep._

_It just seemed impossible with the earth still rocking back and forth._

_Odd._

_The moment she thought that, by mere coincidence or some silly fate, it stopped. The shaking of the land simply…_

_Ceased._

_It was such relief and just…strange. As strangely terrifying as the trembling had first felt, so did the end of it feel simply peculiar. _

_Turning, Gwen noticed it now. She could see others too reacting to the still audible screams. They were assembling. This was her chance. It would be too horribly frightening to go in alone, but together, they could save some. She couldn't just stand here anyway and listen to those awful howls. She had to do something!_

_She made her way over as quickly as she could with all the mayhem surrounding. She informed she wanted to be of assistance._

_It was the kind of decision you made with not a single thought of the repercussion. It wasn't her norm, more his, the leader of Camelot's Knights, but that didn't matter now. Just the rescue of friends was important._

_She didn't consider herself that brave a person either, but also definitely not cowardly. She'd braved before dangerous situation to help those she cared for._

_Just this…_

_She gave it no more thought, simply prepped._

"_Are you mad Gwen?"_

_She heard Mirabelle ask the question, the woman standing nearby and grasping tightly to the wall as if in fear it would start moving again._

_Gwen shook her head, but gave no verbal response as she pulled up the bottom of her precious lavender dress. It was one of her most favorites, so beautiful with material lent from her dear former mistress, her friend, the Lady Morgana. Only now, for months, her Lady had disappeared. _

_Clenching the fragile material into work stained fingers, Gwen ripped strongly. It would be a hindrance if it remained skirted down to her feet. She kept tearing all the way around until it lowered to above her ankles with ragged ugly shreds._

_But it didn't matter. _

_Clothing was not as sacred as…_

_Life._

"_Gwen?" _

_Mirabelle asked again, eyes wide, pulling at her arm with the hand that wasn't clenching the wall. _

"_Don't leave me here!"_

_Gwen grimaced tightly. There were plenty others around. She'd be fine. _

_Lifting at the bottom shards of her ruined dress, she hurried along with the others who were courageous enough to attempt the rescue. Then right before they reentered the kitchen, she ripped at her dress again, this time a mostly square shaped piece she could use to hold at her mouth._

_The kitchen showed little familiarity now. It no longer was a place to cook royal meals, but…_

_A fiendish trap._

_The usually gray stone walls were beginning to be wrapped in orange, gold and red. _

_The fire was thickest near the back door, but even at the front where they searched for any persons who could be alive, listening for screams, the flames threatened viciously. The smoke that trailed the prickling flames was densely heavy. It raised hacking coughs that pulled nefariously at the throat. _

_Sight was horribly impaired by it all, including the sometimes jumping flames that were fiendishly hazardous. The heat was nearly intolerable, instantly giving skin the feeling it was being slowly roasted even without a single tangible touch. The floor was heavily littered with the mess of abandoned desserts and the fallen utensils. And there was one more thing now hindering movement._

_One thing that Gwen hideously discovered now. _

_Against her foot._

_She slowly lowered her eyes, feeling one of the men reach her before she could react too strongly. He was a middle aged servant who had been in the employ of the castle for many years. He must have noticed her horrified glance because he held at her arm tightly, whispering in between heavy coughs,_

"_If it's too much just go back Gwenny. No one will expect you to stay, young thing like you."_

_It was a body her foot had bumped against._

_A remain._

_Aflame._

_Tears hit her eyes, the gruesome discovery so disturbing, but she pushed up with the ripped cloth at her mouth, determined. _

"_No…"_

_Noticing it then, she motioned him in one direction, and headed in the other. Dimly through the fire and smoke she could see two who needed assistance. _

_Horrifically she wondered if she was stepping upon more…_

_Before she closed down that thought. Enough. She had to stay strong and not think of such awful things._

_Getting to the cries, she realized now that it was two kitchen workers in front of her that needed aid. Quickly Gwen grabbed at their arms and hurried out, following the progress of the other brave servants._

_Taking count in the busy hallway, she noticed it was six they had just gotten to safety. Some were sickeningly aflame that jackets and aprons were being thrown over their clothing, but at least they were out of that hell turned room._

_Hers she had assisted were not too badly injured, just shaking from dreadful fright. _

_Now would be such a good time for someone like Adelaide to…_

_Wait a minute. Adelaide. Where was she?_

_Oh and…_

_Where was Stella?_

_Maybe they had gotten out through the back door, but what if not? What if-_

_Gwen turned to others, those who were not so hysterical or bodily injured to be incoherent._

"_Have you seen Adelaide…or Stella? Have you seen them?_

_Has anyone seen…"_

_Continuously for the next minute or maybe less, she asked the question, getting no reassuring answer. Not a single soul had seen them. _

_She noticed it now, how two of the men planned to return to look for any possible survivors. That kitchen was maybe a fiery disaster now, but she couldn't stay out here if there was the chance that Stella and Adelaide still needed to be found. The decision hasty and out of desperation for finding her friends, Gwen followed the men to where some dim screeches could still be heard._

_It was just two of them now…and her. The rest were too consumed by smoke or the flame to return._

_The men seemed surprised that Gwen wanted to go back, but they didn't question too much when she insisted that Adelaide and Stella needed to be found._

_Every single kitchen worker knew Adelaide. Every single one of them had some special story they could tell about the boisterous caring woman._

_As they reentered, Gwen realized the room felt even hotter, and the flames seemed higher._

_Keeping with the men, she carefully weaved through the carnage left on the floor boards and avoided the flaming obstacles. This time the screams were shallow, but they were still able to spot them. _

_It just sadly wasn't Adelaide or Stella._

_Gwen held at the arm of one servant while the men held at the two others found. Then they made their way to the door as carefully as possible. _

_As they started to reach, Gwen some paces behind after barriers that were hard to pass for her petite stature, she felt one of the longer rips of her dress get caught on the floor. Anxiously she pulled, but it wouldn't budge. The men were already nearly out the door. One of them was turning back to her to see if she was alright. Gwen nodded, before directing the older woman she had been helping toward the waiting man. He was coughing heavily and she could tell he wanted to speed this up. _

_Turning, after the woman was almost to the man, Gwen grasped the lavender material of her once precious dress with blistering fingers. It gave a sheer ripping sound as it viciously tore away from the obstacle. _

_Freed, Gwen sighed with relief, continuing her descent to breathable air out in the hallway, seeing the last man's back just disappear through the opening doorway._

_That was when it happened._

_The earth gave an unexpected violent jolt. _

_With frenetic energy she tried to hold at the walls, but they were riddled with mazes of orange gold flames that threatened the skin of her vulnerable fingers. The rocking of the castle too caused her body to lose its concentration._

_Tumbling down to the macabre floor, she just managed to avoid the large patches that were aflame, but her knee still hit something horribly needle-like. She cried out at the swift pointed pain and flailed for some kind of balance. _

_The rocking, if frightening and shocking, was short though. Quickly enough it stopped, just a strong shock of after effect. _

_Her vision slowly adjusting to the cease of movement, Gwen glanced down to see what was the damage to her knee. _

_Pushed hard right below the bone were the three hard directed prongs of a large fork. She pulled hard at the object, simply wanting to get it away. Ignoring as much as she could the drills of pain resulting from her forced action, she felt it fall away with a heavy clang. _

_Her skin bled now, but at least that awful utensil was no longer stuck to it. _

_Hearing some kind of hissing, Gwen looked up._

_The injury to her leg throbbed, but her bigger plight demanded attention._

_Hell was all around her. _

_It danced in snarling blood red embers. _

_In cackling feverish flames._

_And she was…_

_Alone._

_The men were gone of course, having departed with that last rescue. She could have sworn she saw one trying to return through the jolting, but it could have just been hopeful imaginings. _

_She needed to make her own escape, but first, one last try. _

_Opening her mouth wide, a futile mistake within such a fiery dwelling, she screamed._

"_ADELAIDE!_

_STELLA!"_

_The hot thick exterior seemed to chuckle with malicious intent. Immediately she felt her throat choke, forcing out a row of hacking coughs that wrenched at her upper body. _

_Heeeelllpppp…_

_Heeeeellll…_

_Hhhhhhhh…_

_What was that? Was that someone shouting for help? Was it her dear friends? Maybe they heard her. Maybe they were still here!_

"_ADELAIDE!_

_STELLA!"_

_Heaving coughs exploded from her lungs again, but still she tried to hear for any sounds._

_Hhhhhhhhhhh…_

_She turned to it with excitement. There was someone!_

_Looking in the direction…_

_She saw…_

_IT_

_Her hope instantly started to fade._

_There it was._

_Flames climbing up a shelf of the wall, eliciting a shallow sound of what she had imagined were cries of…_

_Help._

_It was all just illusion. _

_It was the fire playing tricks with her. _

_Shaking her head resolutely, Gwen pushed hard against the floor to get to her feet. She was angry that what she had hoped had been her friends was just this malicious tormentor of the kitchen. Trying to right herself too quickly, her leather worn shoes twisted as they stepped upon more of that slippery bubbling batter. Her legs tangled and once again…_

_She fell._

"_OOOOOOHHH!"_

_Her weakened muscles clashed with abuse against the wood. _

_Still she tried to get up, pushed to the floor when…_

_Maybe the fire had planned this._

_Maybe hell wanted macabre results. _

_Slowly, fully sinking back down to the messy stained floor at the new…thing…that caught her denying vision, she felt fresh tears edge from her already heavily watering eyes. _

_From her throat came a dull agonized moan._

"_Noooo…"_

_She pleaded to heaven. To any kind of peace._

_But the picture was horrifyingly plain._

_The body was blackened stiffly enough. Where it wasn't already burned to near non-recognition, it smoldered with blood red flames._

_The futileness of it all drained through her own body. The emotional pain exploded with fiery shocks._

_Enflamed hairs of graying oldness. _

_Oh…no._

_That familiar bandana._

_Torn through by hell's way of creating rain._

_She felt like her heart was melting into this pyre of wasted bodies. Of friends loved and…_

_Gone. _

_Hot wet tears ran down her cheeks as she tried to deny it all._

_She was going to retire. She was finally going to rest. _

_No more work. Just…time to herself._

_Gwen closed her eyes. She wanted to pretend none of this was real. Her whole body ached now. Her lungs were so choked. And her heart was silently…breaking. _

_She just wanted…_

_All this nightmare to be over._

"_No." _

_She wanted to pull her away. Precious Adelaide deserved at least to not die in such a place of purgatory. But already the woman's body was torn into charcoaled remains. It was disintegrating into…_

_Ash._

"_No." Gwen whispered painfully. _

_It hurt so badly to have so many lives, so many wonderful lives…_

_Gone._

_In a flash._

_With a rumble._

_She lowered her head._

_IT strongly interrupted her mourning._

_Another flashing jolt._

"_AAH!"_

_Gwen screamed what she thought her throat couldn't even elicit anymore. Adelaide's death was horrible, but the earth was moving again. _

_At least…_

_The somewhat mild tremor was over fast. She relieved a tiny bit as once again, the shaking quickly ended._

_Gwen lifted her head with sad resolution._

_It was too late for Adelaide._

_If Stella had not gone through the back door, it was too late for her too._

_All those imagined screams were just that…_

_IMAGINED._

_No life remained in this room that beckoned now at hell's gates._

_Only…_

_Hers._

_Hers that was being solidly threatened. _

_She stared in horrific amazement as the fire seemed to have in the past few moments made a fiendish amount of progress. It was starting to snap at where she sat. _

"_Oh my God."_

_It tortured her throat to talk, but still she vocally reacted._

"_I have to get out of here…"_

_She whispered. _

_The fire was in a playful malicious mood though. It wanted to continue the game and keep within its blood red walls…_

_Its naive victim._

_A flame from the wall leapt energetically to the sleeve of her dress. Gwen stared with shock for only a moment before she FELT its effect._

_Skin is not meant to feel the boiling liquid tongue of flame._

_Its violating contact made her scream in agony._

"_AAAAAAHHHHH!"_

_Her flesh felt like it was being ripped off the veins, the blood churning underneath. _

_Set on simply putting it out, taking no time to weigh the consequence, she reached out for the first thing she found, a huge thick iron pot. Then lifting it high in the air, she flung it forcefully against her smoldering arm. _

_It took out the fire almost instantly, but too…_

_Her mouth opened horribly wide, her pupils deathly round, she let out an anguishing bellow._

_A scream that raised the hairs._

"_AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"_

_A crack hissed against her unbelieving ears. A shock of hideous pain speared through her entire body._

_Before it hung lifelessly, the bone twisting at the most horrible angle, broken almost fully…_

_In half._

"_OH MY GOD!_

_AAAAAAAAHHHH!"_

_She screamed one more time, having to fight so hard with her good hand to keep from falling to the riddle flamed floor. It hurt like nothing she had ever felt before in her life. It was like lightning tearing through her shocked insides. _

_With heavily watered eyes she saw it, underneath the sleeve of her dress, her freshly broken arm. Broken by her own devious hand. _

_This was what the fire did. It turned life against itself._

_Shaking hard, she couldn't find any semblance of peace. The pain of it all was so excruciating. She just wanted to close her eyes and…_

_Die._

_Oh God no._

_She had to live. _

_That would be her new mantra. She wasn't going to let it take her this way. It didn't matter that her arm was broken, throbbing. It didn't matter that her lungs were fully strangled. It didn't matter that her body felt it had been abused to its extent, that this fire was raping her of her existence. _

_She would do whatever she had to…_

_To get out of here._

_To live._

_It was just so hard to find a safe place. _

_The walls had no spots anymore where they weren't being licked by ugly flames. The floor had few of its own. She could even feel it now dully between all her other pain, the hot vicious heat of the approaching ones. The orange red embers were tickling at her shoes. With her good hand, she became a scavenger, finding a less heavy pot that with more gentleness than she had inflicted upon her injured arm, she used to put out the cruel tickles of flame. _

"_Stop it." She uttered, like the things were alive. _

_But maybe they were. _

_Maybe they were hell's demons._

_Managing to hinder it that way, she resolved weakly to what she needed to do next. Even with her bone brittle and broken, she had to somehow get up. She needed to stand._

_Some way._

_She tried it two times, but each attempt stressed so hard against her broken arm that she was left to moan with defeat. Her arm was too far injured. Her lungs were too heavily filled with smoke and ash. Her vision was blurring steadily._

_She couldn't stand. She just couldn't do it._

_She had entrapped herself. _

_She would die here, with all of them._

_This would be her last breath. _

_This would-_

_No. _

_Some tiny bit of her spirit still raged. It was furious at the fire and set on life._

_Death was of course inevitable someday…_

_But._

_Not like this. Not here. Not this way. The fire wasn't going to win. _

_She would fight for her life. _

"_Not like this…" She whispered, her renewed mantra._

"_You're not taking me this way."_

_If her mistress ever returned she would mourn her loss too heavily. Merlin too would be sad._

_If she couldn't stand…_

_She would crawl to escape._

_Pushing down with her good hand, she laboriously struggled. Her muscles stressed hard. Her veins throbbed against her flesh. The force of movement made her injured arm vibrate with prickles of new added pain. Her body slid past objects that wanted to bar her way. Liquid shot against her fingers. Tough tinges of charcoal roughened against her nails. Her good hand would give way and she would have to quickly scramble to rest upon its elbow without touching the raging fire. _

_She imagined her process brought her over long gone bodies. She didn't try to identify them._

_This was now just purely about one desire._

_Life._

_Fresh air of life._

_She just wanted to live._

_She just wanted to breathe._

_To feel the arms of peaceful existence. _

_The mantra didn't dull. She kept it up strongly. _

_Her life had never been fully easy. She'd survived the loss of her mother and father. She knew now they would want her to fight for life. Hours upon days she climbed long rows of steps and carried out piling loads of wash. She regularly lowered to her knees to clean soiled floors and stayed like that until standing she would feel the mild bruises underneath her dress. _

_She was used to hard work. She would let that be her gift now. She would not quit…_

_It just hurt so badly. Her body felt so…_

_So…_

_Heavy._

_Like she couldn't carry it anymore._

_All she could do was whisper, that mask she had used for her face, long gone when the bone had broken in her arm._

"_I can't stop._

_I have—_

_I have to-_

_Get-_

_Out-_

_Have-_

_Gwen kept pushing her good palm against the floor, trying hard to use it for leverage repeatedly. Agonizingly she slid closer to the wall, not stopping to see what the roughness, slipperiness it was that her body slid across. It could be bodies, liquid or…_

_Once again, she didn't want to know. She just wanted to live. Get out and breathe. That was all that mattered. She kept it up. That repetitive mantra. In her mind. Voiced in shallow whispers._

"_I have to get out. I have to…"_

_Merciful God…help…"_

_It just hurt so badly. Her body was wearying. It was so much._

_Too much._

"_Please."_

_She prayed._

"_Please give me the strength to do this-_

_The closer she got to the door of escape, the closer too rained the flames. They would keep hissing at her fingers and shoes. She'd attempt to bat at them with her good hand, but it wasn't always fully a success. Often she'd have to kick or slap her hand down. It caused more stress and made her moan low in her throat, but at least it extinguished the flame. _

"_Oh Camelot's mercy-_

_Just-_

_Get to-_

_The door-_

_Touch it-_

_Feel its touch…_

_Salvation-"_

_Finally her painful trek, her rough long slide, led to some of that word…salvation. She was at the door, but too her strength was sapped._

_Eyes starting to close with fragile screams of enough, she had to battle to keep them open for even seconds. Still, now that the door was just feet away, she lifted her legs. She had to kick it back open. _

_Horribly at that moment a flame leapt from its earlier perch to the sleeve of her good arm. It hissed at the already ravaged material. The shock caused her feet to fall with shock. Her broken arm couldn't help. It was too brittle. She slapped her wrist, with the beginning flame at sleeve's tip, down upon the littered floor. The jolt of it hurt, but depleted the flame at least._

_Yet now her stance was weakened even more. She wanted to live, but the taste of breath seemed so far away. It was like the flames were gently, viciously lulling her to sleep._

_Hell wanted her to die._

_She lay half fallen against the floor, in numbing pain from so many injuries and lungs raped of what made them exist. _

_Every last substance was stripped._

_And yet still…_

_She kicked._

_She wasn't going to die. Not here._

_Feebly. _

_The force of her feet was too weak._

_Nothing._

_The door didn't even budge._

_Tears scratched furiously at her eyelids. Coursed heavy down her neck._

_Her skin was being exposed to new burning embers. _

_Burning embers…coming from a dragon. She thought of now. That night he had been with her. She had put out the fires that had started to burn at his precious booted feet. She had…helped him. He had helped her. _

_Now…_

_One more attempt._

_One last try. _

_This time she kicked with every last inch of her strength. It made her moan in pain. She ignored it though as she lifted her feet high. Set them to push hard._

_As her feet flew through the air…_

_She knew this would be her last physical act… _

_Before her body whispered…_

_No more._

_Let me go now._

_Even as her head started to fall, as her eyes lost their focus…_

_As even her injured arm found a resting place…_

_She saw it._

_His face._

_Heard it._

_His voice._

_Hoped for it._

_His…_

_Please come to me, she begged. _

_As her feet still had yet to find out if they would make the contact. _

_If that push would be successful._

_Her only hope. She needed his saving now._

_They'd done it for each other before, right?_

_Come to the rescue of the other._

_Now…_

_She begged for…_

_His…_

_Arms._

_Weak whispers, elicited past burning lips._

_Dried from the ravages of hell._

"_Arthur…_

"_Arthur…_

_Please…_

_Help me._

_If you love me…_

_Help me my prince…_

_Please…_

_Pl-_

It was the last thing she can now remember. It had to have been the moment exhaustion and too much injury took over. Now though too she knows that the last kick had indeed worked. She got the door open enough for Lancelot to find her. The other servants had already made their way outside or to the further hallway so they never saw as she got part of her body out.

But he did.

Lancelot.

Her saver.

_Not..._

_Her prince._

It was to him though, _her prince_, that she ended the story now. She had told him most every detail, _but one_. He does _not_ know in the final seconds she called out his name.

_That she called out for his proof of love._

Perhaps he will never know.

She feels him leaned forward against her.

He's kept his head down against her shoulder and neck for most of the story, fallen. He doesn't want to betray it, that shamefully hot tears have found his cheeks.

He is ravaged by guilt and remorse that she had to endure that.

He knew she went through horror, but now he knows she was trapped fully in…

_Hell._

The woman he loves was in so much awful pain and in such a grotesque environment.

_Not right_…not the woman he loves.

Not his Guinevere having to go through that hideous nightmare…

Not alone.

He could have saved her.

He could have…

_She_ could have died. She nearly did. She nearly burned-

And all the while he was holding the hand of another woman.

A woman he doesn't even love.

As his real one nearly…

_Succumbed_.

This is when he feels sinful and doesn't want to be king, wishes to be a poor peasant, anything but what keeps him from…

This is when he just wishes he could flee it all, grab her hand and run away, and just be together, love each other, nameless, without all the burden, and without the expectation, the bondage. This is when he wants to fully sin against his destiny, his calling, to just be with the woman he loves, to protect her and feel her give her love back. This is when his heart breaks in two and bleeds out its life because this is _his_…

Hell.

She feels it now, hot, wet, and burning against her already once smoldered skin.

_His tears_.

He is crying. Her prince.

_Her…_

She lifts at his ever so finely stubbled chin that its minute roughness can only be felt by tender touch. As she does her fingers become stained. Water of salt. Water of human suffering.

She stares into his wet eyes. Feels her own tears trace down her cheeks.

"_I'm sorry."_ He whispers.

Brokenly.

Apart.

He has no stronger words to give. His lips tremble like the weak earth.

Love is trying so hard to break through hell. Its fingertips bleed as it slides painfully, futilely, down the too high walls.

All licked with flame.

Tongued by pure fiendish laughter.

"_It's alright."_

She whispers.

But it is not. She is not. He is not.

Their tears are like blood. Healing is too far away.

Yet still they hold to each other's shoulders.

They shake and shudder.

They weep past prongs of separation.

This is no hysteria of wails, but that lessens the tears no bit.

Nor the pain.

He begs for forgiveness.

She begs tolerance.

And love just…

_Bleeds out_.

**III**

To be continued…

Thank you.

Geesh I love writing these characters (Arthur, Merlin, Gwen, Lancelot, Uther…all of them…even the made-up Ysmay)! They are so rich and complicated…love this show and what it brings. It's like a fanfic writer's dream!

The fire was written mainly listening to _Lavinia_, some of the lyrics written into the beginning of the story.

Credit: _**Lavinia**_ is by **The Veils**. The first time I heard this song on OTH…totally haunted me. Gorgeously tragic.

Below is a peek into where the story will go next. This cycle is nearing its end. One more cycle to go after that.

**III**

_**To come…**_

_Another palace celebration_

_Arthur and Lancelot face off_

_Gwen makes a life-altering decision._

_Arthur makes his own._

_Ysmay has a secret._

_As does Lancelot._

_Merlin tries to be friend…_

_And servant._

_Love…_

_Discovers a path, but it is treacherous_

_And later…_

_The third (and last) cycle of Love_


End file.
